


Sing Until Your Lungs Give Out

by personalized_radio



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Brendon cries a lot, Coming Of Age (sort of?), Family, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Homelessness, It's only 'underage' because Brendon and Spencer are 17 and Ryan is 18!, M/M, Threesome - M/M/M, Unofficial Adoption, parental abandonment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 18:43:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1909674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personalized_radio/pseuds/personalized_radio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete and Patrick pick up a stray in Vegas</p><p> </p><p>or the one where Brendon gets kicked out and is found by a sketchy tattooed guy in the middle of the night in Vegas and his world gets turned upside down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sing Until Your Lungs Give Out

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wayofthewolf1996](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wayofthewolf1996/gifts).



> SPOILERS FOR THE FIC
> 
> Warnings and Disclaimers: THIS NEVER HAPPENED AND DO NOT OWN THESE PEOPLE. THE ONLY REAL PEOPLE IN THIS FIC ARE BANDOM MEMEBERS DIRECTLY IN THE BANDS AND BRENDON’S PARENTS ARE NOT BASED OFF OF HIS ACTUAL PARENTS, THOUGH THIS IS AN AU BASED OFF A VERY EXTREME EXAGGERATION OF SOMETHING THAT HAPPENED TO HIM.  
> THIS FIC CONTAINS: NC-17 SCENES, LANGUAGE, PARENTAL ABANDONMENT, A MINOR LIVING ON THE STREETS, AN UNTOUCHED UPON LOSS OF FAITH, OBVIOUSLY FICTIONAL CHARACTERS AND CHARACTERS BASED OFF OF REAL PEOPLE IN EXPLICIT RELATIONSHIPS WITH OTHER CHARACTERS BASED OFF OF REAL PEOPLE, AS WELL AS IMPLIED UNDERAGE SEX (IN THE CASE OF PETE AND PATRICK) AND SEX BETWEEN PERSONS UNDER THE AGE OF 18 (THEY ARE 17) WITH A PERSON ABOVE 18 (18 AND 19) IN THE CASE OF PANIC!GSF.  
> TIMELINE: So age everything down 3 years.  
> TTTYG came out in 2000(with Fall Out Boy at 16-16-20-21, Panic! would be 13+14), FUTCT came out two years later, in 2002. They meet Brendon in April of 2003, a little under a year after FUTCT has come out. FOB has reached the point of stardom, they might not be Nirvana or anything, but they make some bank, not gonna lie. They’re living in Vegas, trying to work on their third, unnamed, album. So when Brendon goes on tour with them during the summer, it’s the summer of 2003, making Patrick and Joe 19, Andy 23, Pete 24 and Brendon 16. They tour is still in a van because making bank to FOB is living comfortably in cheap apartments in the not cool part of Vegas near a recording studio and not having to worry too much about food as long as budgets are kept to. Infinity will be made in 2005, two years after Brendon comes to them and will be a late 18th birthday present to him.

Pete wasn’t sure how his life was his life. Like, he knew how it had happened, he was mostly present for all of it (except for those few months that no one would talk about with he or Patrick in ear shot) and he had followed the sequence of events pretty closely, seeing as he’d lived through them. But despite all of that, he just couldn’t wrap his head around it all. He still remembered living in that shitty apartment while they recorded _Take This To Your Grave_ , watching the 2000 New Years on TV (kissing Patrick’s drunk ass at midnight and both of them pretending it didn’t happen when they woke up the next afternoon). He remembered touring in a small van with a bunch of label guys and the three dudes that he’d somehow tricked into letting him tag along. Hell, he couldn’t even pinpoint the moment they got famous. He’d been too busy sleeping in the back of the van or driving, his mind split between writing anything and everything into his notebooks and trying not to focus too hard on how Patrick felt next to him, sounded on stage and near him in the van. Pete did know, on the other hand, that they were amazing. Fall Out Boy was going places and Pete knew that TTTYG was going to get them there. He wasn’t surprised when Island told them the stats and he was even less surprised when people began using words like ‘defining’ and ‘influential’ and ‘game-changing’ to describe it. Pete was a business man, he had a great head on his shoulders despite using the head between his legs more often than not, and Fall Out Boy was probably the best decision he’d ever made. It was more than that though, too. His gut told him that they were going to go far, so far that he couldn’t even see where it would end, not like he normally could. He could see their success in the way Joe vibrated in excitement before each show, the way Andy spoke more and more often in the van and opened up to Patrick and Joe as well as Pete, and in the way Patrick’s voice rang out in his head and didn’t stop reverberating through his being for hours and hours and hours. With the success of TTTYG, Pete was nowhere near surprised when Cork Tree came out. Patrick had been so nervous about its reception, Sophomore Slump rumors circulating and their new _thing_ taking a little more time than either of them had been willing to give up at first to settle into, but _Sugar_ and _Dance, Dance_ were playing on the radio. He’d heard kids walking down the street humming their music, whispering _his_ words to themselves, mimicking _Patrick’s_ voice as best they could. He still heard _Saturday_ and _Mick_ playing in clubs and a few of their other songs were still making the rounds as they grew bigger and better than any of them had imaged they would those two years ago in that small ass apartment.

“They already want us to start thinking about the next one.” Patrick muttered into Pete’s ear only a couple weeks after Cork Tree had dropped. They’d been laying together in Pete’s bed, the attic of his parents’ house quiet and private with the both of them at work and just the two of them. Pete made  grumbling noise and pressed closer, hiding his face in Patrick’s neck. He didn’t have much to say to Island’s demands. They’d exhausted his usable words, the rest of it was too personal to give out to the public like that or just plain unworkable, and the band was exhausted personally. They’d toured nearly two years straight, barely a month between breaks at the longest.  
“Pete?” Patrick nudged him just slightly, his string-rough fingers pressing to Pete’s forehead lightly as if to make sure he was awake.  
“Hm?” Pete mumbled back, more interested in nuzzling closer to Patrick then thinking about anything else.  
“What are we gonna do about Island?” Patrick tried to sound stern, to stay on track, but the fondness broke through and Pete took full advantage, leaning up to kiss and nibble at Patrick’s neck just slightly. Patrick laughed, because that spot was ticklish and Pete _knew_ that, god damn it, but he shoved at Pete slightly to keep him on track.  
“I mean it, Pete, what are we gonna do?”

Pete finally sighed and let Patrick push him away a little so they could look at each other. He took in Patrick, his pretty red hair having grown to an almost unruly length and messy from the rolling around in bed they’d done earlier, and his pretty blue eyes watching Pete back.

“I think we’ve drained Chi Town dry, Lunchbox. To the bone. Let’s get outta’ here, you and me. We can take Hurley and Joe Troh with us. Anywhere you want.”  
Patrick laughed and Pete couldn’t resist leaning over to kiss him, deep and with more feeling then he was willing to say out loud. Patrick kissed back, arms wrapping round him tightly and pulling him closer. The conversation was forgotten in favor of more pleasant discussion, but in the back of Pete’s head, even as he laid Patrick bare under him and took him apart, ‘ _let’s get outta’ here’_ continued to stew.  
And that was how, three days later with Andy and Joe watching with amusement, Pete wrapped a long white blindfold around Patrick’s head, spun him around until he was almost sick and made him point at the map on the wall.

“All right, guys! Looks like we’re goin’ to Vegas!”

And though they all would miss Chicago (even Andy, who had come to adopt the city as a secondary home to his own), the city had stopped being something they could use as inspiration and had instead become a limit that they were ready to shed. A week later, the four of them were packing up the essentials and some non-leave-behind-ables into a big U-HAUL and they were off to Las Vegas.

When they’d arrived, almost a week after they’d left, all tired and close to murder, Joe had been the first to mention that moving from one big city to another might not have been the brightest idea but Pete just waved him away with a grin because he could already feel the difference in the air around them. Vegas didn’t sleep. Neither did Chicago, not really, but Pete had lived there his whole life, could tell the alleys apart easier than he could tell the details of his own hand. Vegas was new in a dangerous and exciting sense, in a way that soon they would all come to experience and grow fond of.

First thing first, Patrick and Andy went out the next day to hunt for cheap living spaces and a practice space. Despite the bank they’d been making, first on TTTYG and then Cork Tree, they couldn’t afford to stay in a hotel forever, and Andy had already drawn up a budget that they’d all agreed to adhere too while they worked on the next album. Pete and Joe spent that day fucking around the town, making some connections and networking as they went to establish themselves a little bit. The four of them met up that night at the hotel’s restaurant for a late dinner and so everyone could throw their findings on the table. Andy and Patrick had found a reasonable practice space and, excitingly enough, two apartments almost across the street, all for under the assigned budget which made Andy happy and in a well off enough area that Patrick didn’t fear Pete getting mugged or beaten up when he went off on his own, which made everyone pretty happy. In return, Joe laid out a few job opportunities he’d picked up on his and Pete’s trek around town and Pete showed off the phone book of numbers of a few people who would make their lives a lot easier to have connections too.

Calling it a good night, the four of them had gone to bed early.

Within the week, Joe and Patrick had begun work in a small time studio as recording musicians when their skills were needed and fairly paid interns when that particular service was not. The guy who owned the place, an older dude named Cody, was pretty cool and had a soft spot for DIY musicians like Fall Out Boy. He might have also been a closet fan but Patrick had forbidden Pete from trying to sweet talk the poor guy into giving them both raises as soon as they’d discovered _Take This To Your Grave_ in Cody’s cd player. Andy had taken one of Joe’s opportunities and had found a pretty nice job in a small hole-in-the-wall tattoo parlor with a great employee discount while Pete took a more fleeting view on work, taking a few odd jobs here and there. He modeled and deejay’ed small clubs then spent a few hours a day giving interviews and doing the PR that the others weren’t all that interested in. With the royalties and the checks they were getting from Island, the four of them had settled into their break pretty well. They didn’t worry too much about anything as long they all stuck to the budget that Andy had tweaked and twisted to fit their lives finally, and with the bills and some of the rent covered by their Island check they were able to afford two cheap two-bed-one-bath apartments almost across the hall from each other. The rooms were in an old brick building across from their practice space and were in the uncool part of Las Vegas’ residential area, second floor of the three. It was considered a musician’s building, cheap rent and a loose noise law enforcement, which worked for them. Andy and Joe lived on the left side of the hallway and Pete and Patrick shared the apartment on the right and one door down from Andy and Joe’s.  

Pete and Patrick had decided before they’d moved from Chicago that they’d wanted to move in together and so despite having the two bed-one bath, they shared the larger of the two bedrooms and the other was a music room of sorts that held the band’s instruments and the awards TTTYG and Cork Tree had already won.

Sometimes, Pete tried to question how he’d gotten so lucky with this band and these guys and this Patrick. When he fell into his occasional funks, like he did the first month they’d settled into Vegas, he tried to think it out, tried to map out how he’d gone from point A (No Patrick) to point B (All the Patrick). He could never quite recall what it was like to Not have Patrick after they met though. One week, they’d been staring at each other from across the van on their first tour around Illinois and the surrounding states and the next week they’d been slamming each other into dark alleys after shows. The week after that, they were going out to eat and seeing movies and holding hands. Patrick didn’t call it dating, because if he put too many labels on it he knew Pete would eventually start to freak but Pete liked to grin goofily and proudly show off the matching promise rings they each wore around their neck. Pete had come to realize that he didn’t know much after all, but he did know when he had a good thing, a really good thing, not like the girls and boys he’d dated before, but like when he met Andy and then Joe and finally Patrick, he needed to grab it and hold on as tight as he could. They weren’t lovers, or boyfriends, or whatever the kids were calling it these days, but they were exclusive and they were each other’s. Neither of them really felt the need to name themselves and neither did Joe and Andy, so they didn’t.

So the four of them moved to Vegas, settled in, and began casually working on the album when they had time around relaxing and working. The album was still unnamed and would stay that way for a number of months to come. Pete knew that they had a tour coming up in a few months as well, a two month thing that they would stir up Cork Tree on and then it was back to break while they got to work on Album Number Three for real. But until then, none of them worried to hard about it outside of Pete’s bursts of mania and the night or two a week they all got together to work on a few notes or words instead of just fucking around on the TV (Andy and Pete) and smoking up (Joe and sometimes Patrick).

Life had calmed down from the hectic schedule of the last few years and they’d been okay with that.

But with Pete Wentz, life couldn’t stay that simple for too long.

-

Pete shivered hard in the cool night, pulling at the sleeves of the purple hoodie he was wearing. Maybe the black skinny jeans and Patrick’s hoodie weren’t the most sensible options to throw on when he was out at fuckin’ three in the morning but the walls had begun to close in on him almost as soon as Patrick had gone to sleep and he’d needed to get out before he’d been buried. He’d almost forced Patrick awake to go with him but then he’d thought of the light bruising under Patrick’s baby blues and decided against it. Now he was sort of regretting it. The night was cool and lonely. He’d already walked up and down the strip of busy places near the apartment but even in the crowd he’d felt alone. He’d thought that some reverse psychology would work on himself so he’d left the busy crowds to walk through the small park near their apartment in the hopes of giving his racing mind some rest. Years from now, when they were all sitting on a tour bus, laughing it up and reminiscing, Pete would tell everyone that he’d had a premonition, a gut feeling that he was needed, and that was what made him turn down the left lane instead of the right lane that he usually took on his nightly walks but what actually happened was that someone hadn’t picked up their dog’s shit and Pete hadn’t wanted to accidentally get it stuck all up on his new converse.

Pete wrinkled his nose at the pile of shit before he turned smartly on his heels and began to walk lazily down the opposite side. The sky was dark and so was the surrounding trees but it didn’t scare him. He was used to all the dark surrounding him and night time was just the physical manifestation of what he’d been feeling for the last week straight.

His knuckles cracked, sharp and surprising, as he squeezed his cold fingers tight in the pocket of his hoodie.

Pete licked his chapped lips, feeling the cool air dry the moisture from his lips only seconds after he’d wet them. The desert was so dry, hot during the day and cold at night but always _dry_ and different from Chicago.

Pete would have continued lamenting on the differences between his old home and his new one, had it not been for the slight rustle of clothes and a soft, barely there whine.

Those thoughts that were lost when Pete glanced towards the bench nestled in the shadows of a tree probably could have led to a hit song, another ‘Dance, Dance’ maybe. But really, when Pete thought on it later on, another ‘Dance, Dance’ could never compare to what he’d found.

It was a kid. He couldn’t have been fifteen, skinny as Bill Beckett and probably shorter then Patrick though one couldn’t’ tell from the way his bare legs and beaten up sneakers hang a good foot off of the end of the bench he was trying to sleep on. He was wearing a thin jacket, possibly even thinner than the hoodie Pete wore, and what looked like basketball shorts, dark and baggy and full of worn out holes. His shirt wasn’t much better, obviously part of the same gym uniform his shorts were a part of and a dark gray. He was shivering, and if he hadn’t been Pete would have thought he was dead.

Pete wasn’t quite sure how to react. He knew that if he’d brought Joe, they never would have noticed the kid, probably too stoned to really walk straight. Andy would have called the cops and then forced Pete to leave before the kid’s cohorts jumped out from the trees ninja style to mug them. But Patrick, “Bless his soul,” Andy would say sarcastically, Patrick would check on the kid. Pete knew he had to be a _good person_ or whatever even if it meant he got duped out of his wallet for it.

Pete glanced around slowly, trying to listen for any rustling in the trees, any sounds of people close by, but it was quiet. The best way to go about it, he decided, was just to man up and do it.

Later on, when he brings the kid to Patrick, he’ll tell him all about how he’d been walking in the park, minding his own business, when he ran into this kid, no older then fifteen maybe, and they talked a little because the kid was a little too trusting and didn’t mind talking to shady as fuck, tattooed guys in a park at three in the morning. He’ll tell Patrick all about how he couldn’t, in good consciences, leave this skinny ass, poor kid in ripped up clothes on the street when he and Patrick had a perfectly good room that they only used for instruments. He’ll tell Patrick how he selflessly invited the kid to stay with them for a few weeks or whatever while they go their shit together for the tour and stuff. He’ll illustrate for Patrick how the kid gratefully accepted since it would be better than sleeping on a park bench and so Pete and he locked elbows and skipped back to the apartment.

What actually happens is a little closer to this:

Pete scrubbed at his hair then stepped closer and touched the kid’s shoulder with a loud “Hey, kid,” and the kid _shrieked._

 He rolled his skinny body right off the bench and onto the dirty, bread crumb covered sidewalk with a loud shout, and Pete had an ‘Oh, Shit, don’t laugh!’ moment before he realized that the kid might have gotten hurt and he bent down to help him up, only for the motherfucker to scream again and shoot a fist out and straight into Pete’s nose.

And blood was suddenly just everywhere, dripping down Pete’s face along with the surprise tears he couldn’t quite stop in time while his nose began to throb painfully.

“ _Fuck_ , kid, hold on! I’m not here to _attack_ you! God _damn_ it!” He muffles out as he cupped his hands over his nose to try and stop the blood flow, pinching his nose and tilting his head back like Andy always tells him not to when this shit happens.

He glanced over and met the kid’s kinda-scared-kinda-confused look and they held it for maybe a minute before they were both laughing, loud and shattering the quiet of the night around them. Pete’s mouth was filled with blood from where his lip busted open and the blood had somehow covered his hands and the ground around him but he’d miraculously kept most of it from the hoodie (because Patrick would murder him if he stained this hoodie. Pete had bought it for himself but Patrick had claimed it as his own a few days later and he loved it more than his _hats_ ).

“Oh geez, dude, are you okay?” The kid finally gasped out, pulling his backpack closer to him and opening it to yank out a kinda dirty, blue towel. It had a big P on it in the corner, probably a school’s symbol and when the kid shoved it against Pete’s nose, it was damp and school locker room musky.

Pete ignored that stench and the memories it brought back (few of them happy, mind you) and wiped his hands on the edges quickly, before the blood dried and stained, while he squeezed his nose.  
“Sho k’ed.” Pete muffled out through the towel, not quite sure how to break the silence that had fallen over them while he’d tended to his injury.

“Brendon.” The kid supplied, looking sheepish, “Sorry about your nose, man. It’s instinct.”  
Pete knew that instinct from one too many wild parties as a kid, of the kind of people that would approach a vulnerable kid like Brendon (and himself, only a few years back), so he just waved him off with his free hand.  
He waited until he thought the blood had stopped before he straightened his head and slowly pulled the now bloody towel from his face.

“Brendon. I’m Pete.” He grinned wide because he knew that the goofier the smile, the less threatening he looked and the kid still looked a little scared.  
“Why were you sleeping out here?” he asked instead of the first few questions that popped into his head as he looked the kid over again. He looked dirty and pale under his tanned skin, the bruising under his eyes almost as dark as Pete’s. His hair was greasy and a little matted and his clothes were, upon farther inspection, not only holey but also a little big, like he’d borrowed them from someone.

“O-oh, I just lost track of time.” Brendon laughed, nervous and fake and still a little scared, and rubbed his shoulder, where he’d hit the ground.

Pete raised an eyebrow, “You got a place to sleep, kid?”  
“Oh, yeah.” Brendon stood up and brushed his shorts off nervously, “Just, uh, down that way.” He pointed down the road Pete had just come from.  
“Mhm.” Pete felt some blood drip down his face so he scrapped his knuckles across his upper lip and grinned up at Brendon.  
“Listen, bro. I know this is creepy, but we’ve got a free bed. You interested?”  
Brendon’s eyes got a little more spooked and he took a quick step back, opening his mouth to decline, but Pete waved his hands and cut him off.

“No, dude, no funny business. I’m Pete Wentz, you probably haven’t heard of me all the way out here but I’m a musician. I’m in a band, totally trustworthy.” He gave Brendon a sincere look, since that always worked on Patrick’s mom, “I mean it, kid. No funny business. Pinky promise.” He offered his pinky, and was rewarded when Brendon giggled nervously and hooked his own pinky with Pete’s. They shook and that was that.  
“Yeah…Yeah, sure.”

Pete wrapped a friendly arm around Brendon’s shoulder once he’d yanked himself up and scrubbed the towel along his face once more to make sure all the blood was off. Then he twisted them to begin their walk back to the apartment, throwing the other hand up in the air as he explained, “So I’m in Fall Out Boy. We’re pretty rocking, let me tell ya’, kid.”

Brendon tensed under his arm but as Pete continued to speak, he slowly relaxed. His hold on his bag did not go lax but his shoulders stopped their mission to become straight wood, which Pete could understand from his own stints as a homeless youth.

“Don’t worry, kid, they’ll love you. Patrick’s my roommate. Just, bro, when he asks just tell him we met and talked a little before you came over, okay? Let’s just avoid the whole thing where you beat me up.”  
“I really am sorry.” Brendon apologized, but Pete only waved him off again.

“Don’t worry about it, bro. Just don’t mention is to Patrick. He’ll throw a fit, blah blah.” He flapped his hand again, and Brendon just laughed. Pete thought this could work out for a while, if Brendon was as easy going as he seemed.

-

So Patrick wasn’t expecting this when he woke up to find Pete missing. He knew that sometimes Pete needed to leave. It bothered him a little, that Pete would leave in the middle of the night without telling anyone outside of a text but he knew that sometimes he needed to get away from everyone and just breathe for a while. He’d come to Patrick if he needed help, he’d promised him he would after the last time he’d disappeared without telling anyone. The months following that episode had been so hard that Patrick just straight up pretended they didn’t happen unless they were important to the current conversation. So he’d woken up around three with no Pete in bed with him and also lacking his favorite hoodie at the end of the bed and he’d panicked a little before he checked his phone and saw the ‘brb luv u’ text from Pete’s phone. He’d decided to wait up for him to get home, maybe make him some hot chocolate or something when he returned. He hadn’t expected the starved looking kid who’d followed Pete inside nervously, but no way could he turn him out, not with Pete’s big eyes staring soulfully at him, all big and pleading.

“…and so I told Brendon he could come stay with us for a few weeks. Until like the tour, right? That’s cool, right?”

Except it wasn’t cool, Patrick knew and so did Pete, because they’d be leaving in two months or so, but with Brendon looking pitiful and hungry and Pete looking pleadingly at him, he couldn’t say no.

“You’re an idiot.” He pointed at Pete sternly then smiled at Brendon, “Come on, bro. Let’s find some breakfast or something. It’s too early for this shit. How old are you, anyway?”

He pointed to the kitchen, trying not to react quite like he wanted to when he heard Brendon say “S-sixteen,” nervously, and watched Brendon make his way through the clothes and books and notebooks strewn across the floor. He waited for him to disappear into the kitchen before he stepped closer to Pete, pulled him down by his hoodie strings and kissed him hard.

Pete winced when their noses brushed but he kissed back, wrapping his arms tight around Patrick’s waist.

“You know I don’t like when you just…go.” Patrick muttered against Pete’s neck, pressing his face against it for a moment before he shoved weakly at Pete’s shoulder’s, “And don’t think I don’t see the blood on my hoodie. And your eye is starting to bruise. Trust you to go out fine and come back with a kid and a fucked up face.”  
Pete just laughed his stupid donkey laugh and kissed Patrick again, sweet and light, a type of kiss that hadn’t been shared between them in a few weeks, since Pete had been slowly falling into a funk again.  
“Come on, baby, it’s cold outside.” He crooned terribly into Patrick’s ear, making the smaller man laugh and hit him again.

“Shut up, you dork. Go get cleaned up, then grab some pillows-no arguing, man, you brought him home.” Patrick cut Pete’s protests, “Go get some pillows and I’ll grab the blankets from the closet. We’ll set up the couch tonight and we can reorganize the music room when we all wake up.”  
“You’re the best.” Pete kissed him again (and fuck, Patrick was so gone for this loser, he couldn’t even understand it), with his stupid shining eyes and his dumb smile and Patrick couldn’t take the sheer affection looking at him through that face, so he shut his eyes and pressed closer to Pete’s chest, hiding his face.

“U-um.”  
Brendon’s voice broke the moment, brought Patrick back to the present and he shoved Pete away lightly, “Go clean up, loser.” He said fondly.

Pete rolled his eyes, kissing his forehead like a dork, winked at Brendon, and walked to the bathroom to clean up the blood he’d missed.

“U-uh, I can go, if it’ll be a problem.” Brendon offered quietly, his skinny arms crossed tight over his chest, a small bag held tight to him.

“Don’t be dumb. There’s plenty of room. I’ll set up the couch in a sec, let’s get some food first.” Patrick waved his words away, walking past him into the kitchen to make some toast or something, “You like toast?”  
“Y-yeah, that’s fine.”

And so Patrick made a plate of toast for Brendon (and so what if he used up most of the loaf, the budget had some extra padding money for a reason and feeding skinny homeless kids had just become one of them, in Patrick’s opinion.), and left him in the kitchen to eat while he dragged the newly washed up Pete to the spare room to stare at it and try to image how they were going to reorganize it.

“Patrick.” Pete murmurs, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s waist and hugging him to his chest from behind, “Thanks, man. I couldn’t just…”  
“I know.” Patrick leaned back against him and closed his eyes, “He could have our bed if I could fit us both on that couch, but whatever. He can use the bed in here after Andy and I move the shit around.”  
They had furnished the room with just the bare necessities, a bed and a TV, for when Patrick’s parents come over. Pete’s mom and dad had known about their relationship since it had started, but they hadn’t actually gotten around to telling Patrick’s parents just yet. See, they did love Pete but they’d known him for a long time and he wasn’t exactly the most ideal choice of partner’s for their baby. Patrick just wanted to have something to show them, some tangible proof like the fame or the money that he knew they were going to have in a few short years, something he could point to and say “I have this because of him, I’m here because of him.” And mean it in a way that they could _see_. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Pete just because he was Pete, because he _did_. His parents just. They were hard to please and with Pete in the state that he was in, the last thing he needed was Patrick’s mom and dad guilt tripping him about his relationship with Patrick.

“Hey, stop thinking so hard.” Pete squeezed him tight for a moment, dragging Patrick out of his thoughts.  
“Come on, let’s go set up those blankets.”

Patrick rolled his eyes but let Pete drag him to the hall closet, filled with mismatched blankets and towels, and together they carried out the thick comforters and sheets. Pete grabbed two pillows from the pile on their bed on the way back to the living room and soon enough, they had a fluffy pallet on the ground and the couch set up like a small bed for Brendon to choose from.

“Oh…” Brendon sounded surprised, oddly overwhelmed when he saw the pallet but Pete would neither let him apologize for hitting him (“geez, kid, that was supposed to stay a secret!”) nor say ‘thank you’ again.

Instead, Patrick made him promise to stay for breakfast later, and waited for Brendon to settle in on the pallet, cocooned in yards and yards of warm blankets and in a pair of Patrick’s old sweat pants and Pete’s shirt, still damp from the shower Pete had to practically force him into, before he turned the light off and let Pete lead him into their bedroom.

-

Brendon woke up late the next day. He’d meant to slip out the door before Pete and Patrick woke up, but instead, he’d slept right through his inner alarm and through most of the day if the sun hitting his face was any indication.

He set up slowly, listening for the sounds of either of the two he’d met last night only to hear not only their voices but two more as well.

“No, yeah, just like that. Great. Patrick, can you and Pete move the guitars?”

Brendon wrinkled his brow, stood slowly and bent his knee a little bit to see if it had stopped throbbing from his awkward landing last night and when it felt steady enough he started to make his way to the open door next to the kitchen. Pete and Patrick were carefully moving four guitars, one pretty and new and the others sort of beaten up but well cared for. A dude with long brown hair and a cool piercing in the bottom of his lip was moving a large drum from the center of the room to the corner, where what looked to be three quarters of its kit already set. Another man, with a head of what was the start of a truly epic fro, was moving the last of the set to its place in the kit. Two basses were on stands near the guitar, four amps and a dead mic were all against the far wall, opposite a small, wooden door that probably led to a closet.

“Oh, hey!” Patrick glanced up and caught sight of Brendon, flashed him a small grin again and Brendon felt himself flush.  
“Yo, guys. This is Brendon. Brendon, that’s Andy and that’s Joe.” He pointed at both of the strangers and they both shot him grins that made him feel warm.

“We’re just about done cleaning the room up.” Pete heaved the last of the guitars into its stand and then rubbed his hands on his pants. In the daylight, Brendon could see the faint bruising along his nose and under one of his eyes, hidden just barely by the thick eyeliner he’d applied and the guilt flooded through him again. He hadn’t meant to hurt him. Well, he had but only because he’d thought Pete was dangerous.  
“Guys.” Brendon tried to stop his voice from shaking, “You really don’t-”

“Nonsense!” Pete interrupted, grinning wide at him again. Brendon would have been disconcerted at how widely his lips could stretch if it hadn’t been for how open and genuine the smiles seemed to be.

Andy finished fixing the drum set-“Andy’s the drummer,” Pete had said last night-and stood straight to stretch out his back and look around the room. Where it had been crowded and messy yesterday, it was now organized and as clean as four young dudes could get it. The bed had been made up with the extra sheets Patrick kept in the small closet and one of them had actually bought a remote to the TV and set it up so it worked. There was a stereo system on the floor next to the bed and Patrick’s record collection had been collected from where it’d been dusting under Joe’s bed and set up on a bookshelf Andy had found a few days back at a garage sale. They’d set it up to make the room seem a little more homey then it had been before. There was enough room for Brendon to spread out on the floor if for some reason he wanted to, and Patrick looked pretty happy with himself.

“Y-you’re going to trust me with your records?” Brendon choked out after a moment of looking around. His eyes were wet with held back tears, he’d basically been on the edge of crying since Pete had brought him inside and Patrick had made him a plate of toast, and all the feelings he’d been holding back since last night had started to leak through.  
Patrick just shrugged, “I read _Les Misérables_ in high school.”

Brendon choked on a laugh and turned away to scrub his face and hide his tears in his hands and all four of them politely waited for him to get control of himself before saying anything else.  
“So, we figured you can just stay with us until you want to leave or whatever.” Pete shrugged and dusted his hands on his pants again for something to do, “Joe and Andy live across the hall and you’re welcome to the kitchen. You might want to avoid our bedroom, it’s always messy and a little hard to navigate but otherwise, you can have the run of the house. Just don’t pawn anything without asking first and we’ll all be good, got it?”

“G-Got it.” Brendon nodded, rubbing his eyes again to stop anymore tears. Last night had been the first time he’d slept comfortably in weeks. He hadn’t had a warm place to sleep in a while, the closest he’d gotten was a cot in the homeless shelter but he’d never been able to get up early enough to sign up for one and then make school on time. He’d taken to sleeping in the gym for a couple days, until the janitors had caught on and threatened to call the cops unless he went home, so for the last few nights he’d been trying to sleep in the park.

“I don’t know what to say.” He finally whispered after a moment, Andy and Joe having started a bantering fight over what looked like a tambourine and Patrick straightening up the bed sheets like his mother had taught him in the time where he’d been thinking.  
Pete smiled, smaller and somehow even realer and full of understanding, “Don’t say anything, bro. Just, I dunno, let the world do you a solid.”

And then Brendon watched with wide eyes and a blushing grin as Pete snuck up on Patrick-bending over the bed to reach the far top corner-and pinched his ass. Brendon laughed when Patrick punched him but so did Joe and Andy so Brendon didn’t feel too badly about it afterwards.

-

Brendon wasn’t sure how it happened, but slowly a rhythm to his life was set, which was something he’d thought he’d lost forever the day he’d lost his parents.

He usually woke up early, before either Patrick or Pete, and made breakfast-something simple and small that he couldn’t fuck up too badly. At first, he’d made breakfast and cleaned up any big mess that the five of them had somehow made. If he could risk it, he’d sometimes sneak in and clean up Andy and Joe’s place too until Patrick had eventually set him down and told him he didn’t have to clean up after them. So he stopped cleaning, mostly because it made Pete uncomfortable to not have a mess around, but he continued to make them breakfast despite their attempts to convince him he didn’t have to. Patrick usually woke up before Pete by a few hours and so was the only one who really saw Brendon before school (unless Pete was having a manic attack, in which case, he and Brendon would sing Disney songs together and watch Pete’s (but he swore it was actually a join collection between Joe and Patrick) Disney collection until the early mornings). Patrick usually convinced Brendon to let him look over his homework with him in an attempt to help him out and because of the tutoring Brendon had actually been able to get his math grade higher. Brendon took the city bus to his school’s neighborhood and then walked, and Patrick always managed to sneak some lunch into his bag because he knew how the jocks at school never let Brendon go into the lunchroom.

At first, Brendon had been hesitant but the four of them were so open and cool, he couldn’t help but just fall into place. He clicked with the, with their little family of four, in a way he’d never been able to click with his own parents. Brendon had never had the security he felt with them and even after only a few weeks he already felt like he’d been with them his whole life.

The one liberty Brendon did take without asking was tagging along to Fall Out Boy’s rehearsals. None of them really minded, since Brendon was quiet and liked when Andy gave him informal lessons on playing drums while Pete, Joe and Patrick argued about lyrics or notes after practice was over. Brendon wouldn’t tell them about it but being alone in the apartment had become a phobia of his, something he did his best to avoid whenever he could. It had only taken him a week to begin to depend on the apartment, for it to become a safe zone to him. He hesitated to call it _home_ , because Brendon knew it was temporary, someplace he would lose when the band went off on tour, but it was as close to home as he’d ever been, even compared to his old house and his family. The apartment or, more accurately, the people that lived in the apartment had come to mean safety. When he was alone, now that he was safe and warm and surrounded by people who seemed to care for him without expectation, being alone felt almost overwhelming, especially when he thought back on how scared he’d truly been, alone on the streets with no one to turn to. So Brendon went with them to practice and hung out with the four of them when Andy and Joe came over every night after work. Sometimes, when Patrick was too tired to throw a ‘bitch fit’, as Joe referred to them, Joe would share his good shit (“Weed?” Brendon’s eyes had gone big and wide the first time Joe had offered and Patrick had refused to let Joe smoke anything in the apartment for a week after that, so Brendon had quickly learned not to act too surprised at the underage drinking that Joe and Patrick sometimes partook in or the illegal smoking of marijuana). For the first time in his life, Brendon gad begun to feel loved, unconditionally. There was no church every Sunday, no prayers, or disappointed looks if his grades weren’t high enough. The first time he’d accidentally left his report card on the kitchen table, Pete had flown into his room and hugged him tight, pointed at the A’s and B’s (ignored the C in Chemistry) with what almost looked like pride and hung it on the fridge for the others to see. Brendon had flushed with pleasure and it hadn’t gone away for almost a week.

But sometimes, Brendon forgot. He forgot that it was all temporary. And then he’d remember and it would all come crashing down around him again.

“Brendon?”

Brendon’s head snaps up and he looks up, eyes wide and big at the sound of the teacher’s voice.

“Mr. Urie.” Mr. Gomez’s eye was twitching dangerously, “Care to share your thoughts with the rest of the class?”  
“N-no, sir. Sorry.”

Brendon flushed with embarrassment as a titter of laughter went through the class, cut off only by Mr. Gomez clearing his throat loudly and going back to his Chemistry lesson.

Brendon tried to keep his attention on the board, but it was just one of those days where all he could think about was how everything was going to end soon and he’d be back on the street, back to defending himself and his small bag of possessions from crazy people and the scary, big guys who liked to wander the parks looking for little guys like him.

He scribbled in his notebook (a sparkly pink thing that Pete bought him. He loved it more than anything else in his school bag but he always kept it open and on the first page so no one could see the pink or the glitter when he was in school), but his thoughts continued to wander. He knew it was unlikely that they felt as strongly for him as he’s come to love them, because he was sort of a fuck up. He burnt Patrick’s toast every morning, and he wasn’t the smartest or the greatest looking or the most talented at anything. His dad had said it pretty blatantly whenever Brendon got a little too cocky about anything so Brendon tried his best to not get in the way and he figured that when it was time for them to go, he wouldn’t make it hard for them to leave him. He’d hold in his tears, and he’d smile and wave and get out of their shit the day they left and then he’d…get a job. He was old enough, and he’d get a job and live at a homeless shelter while he saved up. He’s miss them though. He’d miss them a lot. He’d never known what he was missing until he’d run into Pete at that park. Pete and Patrick accepted him completely. The four of them just understood him and all of his oddities. He was weird, but so were they and they almost celebrated how strange he was. They…they _liked_ him. He couldn’t think of anyone who’d ever just… _liked_ him for no reason before them. But they would leave eventually and he knew he’d never have what he had with those four dudes again. Brendon was terrible at long distance, as his relationships with his siblings had proven. They lost contact with him because he couldn’t force himself into their vision with them states away and eventually, they forgot about him and left him alone when his parents gave up on him too.

“Mr. Urie!” Mr. Gomez’s voice pulled him back again and he looked up to see annoyed eyes on him, and not only from the teacher, “Do you need to talk to the counselor?”

“N-no, Mr. Gomez. Sorry, sir.” He stuttered over the sound of laughter again. Mr. Gomez gave him another firm look and turned back to the board and Brendon flushed and avoided the eyes on him, doing his best to focus on his notes and not the impending explosion of everything he’d come to care about.

-

Over the next few days, the thoughts only got worse as they worked around Brendon’s brain.

He’d just opened the fridge to get the vegetarian bacon out of the fridge for Patrick when Pete walked through the kitchen doorway instead of his smaller better half.

“Oh, hey. You’re up early.” Brendon smiled, though it fell a little flat when Pete smiled back tiredly, looking about ready to fall right over.

“Is something wrong?”  
Pete just shook his head, sighing tiredly and scrubbing his eyes as he moved to the coffee pot to start a brew, “No, just the record label keeping us up all night. Poor Patrick fell asleep in the middle of the conversation. Cute as shit but not exactly helpful when I lose my temper, ya know?” He grinned weakly at Brendon but he missed the way the younger boy’s shoulders grew tense.  
“Oh?” Brendon asked carefully, not looking up from the skillet filled with facon.

“Yeah, they’re starting to get serious about the tour dates and everything, so dates and prices and locations are being set. Shit’s exhausting.”  
“Leaving soon?” Brendon finally choked out, hoping the sizzling and popping of grease hid the tremble of his voice, the tears he was barely holding back.

“Yeah, probably. They want us out soon, drummin’ it up for the album. We’ll have to buckle down on that shit too, once the tour is over. No rest for the wicked, huh?”  
Pete, blurry eyed and sleepy, took a sip of his coffee, kissed Brendon’s forehead then moved to the living room to turn the TV on.

And that fucked Brendon up for the rest of the week. It got so bad over the week that on Friday, Patrick asked if he wants to stay home and sleep because he looked like shit. He worried Joe when he turns down their weekly weed night and he stayed home when they went to rehearsal. Brendon figured that if he cut himself off now, it wouldn’t hurt as badly when they did it for him in a couple of days.

“I’m driving you today.” Patrick said without preamble, when Brendon had once again denied staying home.  
“Wait, Patrick, really, you don’t-”

“You’re getting sick or something. I’m driving you, no ‘but’s.” Patrick cut him off and raised an eyebrow at Brendon when he pouted.

So Brendon climbed into the small car that Andy, Joe, Pete and Patrick had bought together and timeshared. Usually Andy used it to drive to his job across town but Brendon guessed that Patrick driving him to school wouldn’t fuck up anyone’s schedule too badly.

So Patrick drove him to school and Brendon tried not to let his misery show. He bent over his notebook and pretended to work on his English homework.

“I-I gotta stay after school, today. Project.”  
And Brendon wasn’t even lying. He did have a project due next week, though it wasn’t until Wednesday that he had to have the rough draft in. He figured that he could start it today and lock himself in his room to finish it over the weekend.

“Okay.” Patrick frowned at him, worry apparent on his face and in his voice.  
‘ _Why can’t you just stop caring_?’ Brendon thought desperately at him, then took it back just as desperately. He’d rather Patrick care about him and leave then stay and not care about him at all.

“S-so, I’ll see you later. Bye, Patrick, ‘love you.”  
Before Patrick could say anything, Brendon was out, door slamming shut as he rushed into the safety of the school.

“Damn it,” he said himself harshly, “ _Damn_ it, you _stupid_ _asshole_.”

He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let them know how much he’d come to care about them. It’d only been a few weeks (four weeks and five days but who was counting really?), and it would only be a few more, and then Brendon would be out of their lives forever and they would forget about him. Patrick didn’t need Brendon’s shit on top of his own.

His day proceeded much the same. He got in trouble in every class, too busy losing himself in the dark thoughts to pay attention and too upset to really care about the lunch detention he earned.

He set in Mr. Gomez’s class for lunch, doing equations in his notebook and trying to hold back tears.

Finally, the last bell rang and Brendon went to the library, hoping to escape his thoughts in books about the American Revolution. Instead, he set for three hours, until the janitors kicked him out again, thinking about what he would do when he went back to the streets, how the prowlers and gangsters had seemed so romantic from far away when he’d been safe at home but were now threats, new pains and aches that Brendon would have to relearn how to avoid and how to deal with on his own. He had barely survived the three weeks he’d been on his own (his sixteenth birthday, spend crying hysterically under a bridge during a rainstorm, just barely hidden from sight of the cars on the highway, cold and wet and so _fucking_ scared he couldn’t stop shaking), and he didn’t know if he could do it again. He knew his parents were still in contact with the school, still spoke to the principle and the teachers when they needed to talk to them, because they didn’t want him taken from them legally. They wanted him to come home and conform, but he couldn’t. They wanted him to become one of them, to like the girls they wanted him to and not the boys he couldn’t help but look at, and believe in the God he couldn’t help but Doubt, and follow the rules he couldn’t make himself agree with. They expected him to give in because the streets were too hard for poor, weak, pathetic Brendon but they didn’t want to lose him in the system while he learned his lesson. He hadn’t heard from them since the night he left though, almost two months ago, and he couldn’t expect their help at all when Pete, Patrick, Joe and Andy leave. No one could care about him like they do. Did.  
Brendon took a deep breathe of cool air when he walked out of the school, breathing in and out until he’d gotten rid of most of the panic that had been filling his lungs.

Even if they were leaving, Pete had said they wouldn’t be leaving for a while longer. As hard as it was to fathom, he’d have time to plan it all out.

Except when he got home, the apartment was dark, the car was gone, and everyone was gone.

There was probably a good explanation for why  no one was in the living room, a completely sensible reason for why the car was gone, but all Brendon could think was;

 _They’re gone_.

They’d left him, without even a goodbye.

“Oh my god.” He breathed out before his legs turned to jelly and he was on the floor, surrounded by his school bag, his notebook, a few library books he’d been able to snag before he’d been thrown out, and his loneliness.

They were gone, he was all alone _again_. He wasn’t good enough for his _fucking parents_ , the people who had _created_ him, and if he wasn’t good enough to be loved by the people who had the _obligation_ to love him, what the _hell_ made him ever think that he was good enough to be loved by people who had no reason to love him? Maybe his father was right, maybe everything was his own fault. Maybe the reason everyone left him was because of _him_? Maybe he shouldn’t have been so loud at night, maybe Pete had only been staying up with him because he felt bad for Brendon, like he had when he’d taken Brendon in in the first place. Maybe Patrick was sick of helping him with his homework and sneaking lunches into his bag because Brendon was too weak to stand up to the guys at school. Maybe Joe was sick of sharing and Andy was sick of letting some dumb, homeless kid play his professional drum set and maybe he only did it in the first place because Brendon wouldn’t leave them alone. Maybe he’d been making up all the fond smiles and the worried looks and the-the caring shit that had made him think that maybe, just maybe they’d felt the same way for him as he’d felt for them.  Maybe his family was right and he was just too wrong to be loved, to fucked up to be happy. Maybe-maybe-maybe-everything just circled in his head over and over, growing bigger and bigger until he was just curled in on himself in the dark apartment, crying and crying and just trying to breathe-breathe-breathe-

“Brendon! Breathe, damn it, breathe!”

-

The sudden light was blinding to Patrick, but he ignored how he could really only see big shapes and squiggly circles without his glasses. He scarcely remembered finally understanding what the loud, heartbreaking sounds coming from the living room were and jumping up to go see what was wrong with Brendon, just barely remembered falling to his knees and wrapping his arms around the kid, pulling him up and cupping his face, firm and hard, forcing Brendon to look him in the eye. Patrick was half asleep, clothed in one of Pete’s rumpled and wrinkled tee shirt, and his hair was a red-blond birds nest under a black beanie and he can see himself reflecting in Brendon’s teary eyes.

“Brendon? Brendon, what’s wrong, come on, what happened?” He asked frantically, running his hands through Brendon’s hair soothingly.

“Patrick-” Brendon just barely gasped out through the tears before he was clinging tight to Patrick and Pete was falling down next to them and wrapping his arms around them too, one of Patrick’s shirts pulled on over his chest backwards  and his hair just as sleep ruffled as Patrick’s.

“Shh, I’m here, we’re here.” Patrick stutters out, rocking Brendon tight. He has no idea what was going on, he’s too tired to really understand anything but the words Brendon just barely gasps out through his heaving sobs make his heart freeze up just the same.

“Brendon, Bren, what the fuck are you saying? Of course we’re not leaving you!” Patrick finally got out, Brendon’s hot tears doing more to wake him up then the cold water that Joe used to toss on him in the van.

Pete squeezed them both tightly, looking just as confused and guilty as Brendon. The band had spent all day working, only to get home and have to take a long, frustrating, and exhausting talk with Island about the tour and setting a rough due date for album number three, and a bunch of other small tour and career things that added up to equal a long, tiring phone call for all four of them. Andy had had a night shift so he’d left soon after and Joe had gone to sleep it off in his own bed instead of crashing at Pete and Patrick’s like he usually did after the phone calls. Shit, they’d meant to get up before Brendon had made it home so Pete could try cooking dinner again instead of Brendon getting to the kitchen before either of them and making it himself.

“Brendon, you dork.” Pete finally interrupted Brendon’s half understood ramblings, his brain finally catching up to what was happening in front of him, “Of course we aren’t leaving you.”

He looked down and caught sight of Brendon’s face and really, the kid was the exact opposite of teenage Pete, he shouldn’t recognize himself in those features so much, shouldn’t see the same fears and hurt he felt growing up (and still feels now, if he’s honest, even if being surrounded by these people that he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, care about him is helping) reflected back at him. So Pete wasn’t as confused as Patrick after seeing that look in Brendon’s face. Instead of saying anything else, he squeezed them both tight to him and knocked his forehead with Brendon’s.  
“You’re such a dummy. We love you, too, you dork.”

Brendon just cried harder and pressed closer to them, clutching desperately at their clothes.

“Oh.” Patrick finally said after a second of just trying to understand what was going on, because it’s all beginning to make sense. He hugged Brendon tighter and tighter until he’d probably begun to leave bruises on him, because now he wanted to cry to, “Oh. _Brendon_ ,”

Patrick hasn’t felt his heart constrict like this since he got that call from Pete’s mom, telling him that his boyfriend or lover or what the fuck ever Pete was to him was in the hospital, was asking for him.

“Brendon, you _idiot_ , of course we love you. How could you think we didn’t love you?”

Brendon just stuttered something else out through his tears, and it took Patrick a few seconds to finally translate, “But what about the tour and the label and going back to Chicago-” through the tears.

Pete ran his hands through Brendon’s hair, soothing and slow, and shook his head, “The tour is being schedules by professionals this time, dude. We aren’t even going anywhere until late June, we’re gonna be gone for like a month and a half, and then we’re back in Vegas until at least the end of recording an album that we haven’t even written yet. You’re stuck with us for a while, bro.”

Patrick nodded, “We aren’t leaving until late June. Do you understand, Brendon?”

“H-huh?”  
“Late June. After you get out of school. Understand?”

“I-I’m coming with you?” Brendon finally hazarded hesitantly, a slow realization dawning on his face.

Pete bumped Brendon’s forehead with his palm lightly, grinning his goofy grin again, the one he’d started saving just for Brendon.

“But…But I’m not. I’m just. I’m just some kid you picked up, why-”

“Hey!” Patrick frowned at him, flicking his shoulder, “You aren’t just ‘some kid’ to us, Brendon. You’re family. You are coming with us, no matter what, and when we get back, you’ll be back here with us. Understand? Even if it means Andy gets a teaching license and homeschools you on the road.”

And maybe Patrick was expecting something a little happier then more crying, but an increase in tears is what he got.

“H-hey, Brendon, stop, don’t cry, come on.” He looked at Pete helplessly and when he got no help from the other man, began to run his fingers through Brendon’s hair again, like he did to Andy’s when Andy was having a bad day, and rubbing his back firmly like Joe liked when he had a shitty work week.

“N-no, I’m happy,” Brendon finally coughed out, tears only coming faster when he looked at Patrick. Pete didn’t say anything, Patrick knew he didn’t know what to say even when it was himself and he didn’t know what to say now, so he just set his hand on Brendon’s shoulder and stayed quiet.

“I-I…” Brendon finally takes a deep breathe, forced himself to stop crying and scrubed at his face hard, “I-I have to…”

He sniffed, hard, and set up, pulling away from both of them enough to look at them but not anywhere near moving from their arms.

“I ha-have to tell you something.”

Patrick shared another look with Pete, wide eyed and freaking out, then nodded, “We’ll listen.”  
Brendon took a deep breath and told them.

-

_“Brendon.” His mom sounded pained. He couldn’t’ look her in the face, couldn’t see the disappointment, the “Where did we go wrong?” look he knew she kept directing at his father._

_His father, who hadn’t said anything since the words “I’m gay,” had come out of his mouth._

_“I’m sorry.” He said desperately, finally looking up from his hands, “I’m really, really sorry. I can’t help it. I tried, I tried so hard, but I just can’t anymore. It’s not_ me _, mom. I can’t-”_

_“Brendon, stop.” She cut him off, sounding too upset, like Brendon was breaking her heart right in front of her, “Just stop. No more of this. Go get ready for dinner.”  
“But, mom-”_

_“Go get ready for dinner!” She shouted. He’d never heard her yell like that before._

_He fled._

_He regretted ever saying anything, but he couldn’t pretend anymore. He couldn’t go to that church and listen to those words anymore and he couldn’t force himself to do any of it anymore._

_Dinner was awkward. The only sounds were of forks scrapping plates, through Brendon didn’t eat a bite, just pushed the food around slowly and carefully. He still couldn’t meet their eyes but he could feel them looking at him, like he was a stranger, like he wasn’t Brendon, their son._

_“Brendon.”_  
 _He winced and his trembling hands dropped his fork. The loud clang of the metal hitting the plate only made the silence that much worse and he couldn’t do much more then slowly look up at his father._  
 _“I think it’s best if.” The man cleared his throat and Brendon’s stomach dropped._

_“Until these…perversions are…removed, I believe it would be best if you left.”_  
 _Brendon opened his mouth but nothing came out for a long time._  
 _“L-Left?” He finally tried, though it came out weak, “Like…left? To where?”_  
 _Brendon’s mother shrugged, looking uncomfortable and upset, “That’s up to you. But until you…fix whatever is wrong, God says we can’t have you here. You’re…you’re perverted, Brendon. Wrong. And until you choose to open yourself to us and let God’s light fix you, we have to cast you out.”_  
 _She started to cry, her make up smearing just a bit before she lifted her napkin to carefully pat her face dry._  
 _Brendon felt his throat tighten up, “But. But I’m your son. You-You’re supposed to love me, no matter what.”_  
 _“Oh, Brendon, we do. We do love you. And that’s why we’re doing this.”_  
 _“But-”_

_“We’ll stay in contact with your school so you can continue to attend. When you feel like you’re ready to cleanse yourself from the evil you’ve allowed to pervert your heart, we want you to come back to us. Okay, son?”  
Brendon didn’t respond, just stood up, “I have to…a bag?”_

_“There.” His father pointed at Brendon’s school bag, obviously full of not only his school things, but also what looked like his school gym uniform, which he knew had been hung up in the laundry room to dry the day before. There was the towel he’d brought home with him, still slightly stained with the blood from the scraps along his arm from when he’d been shoved to the ground during P.E.. There looked to be a lunch box, just barely closed. It was all neatly packed and unzipped._

_“What…”_

_“We’re keeping your instruments and your clothes, for when you come back. There are a few sandwiches and water bottles in the lunchbox and a few bills.” His dad continued, stern like he was sending Brendon off to a class he didn’t want to go to and not the streets to live in until he ungayed himself and upped his Mormonism._

_“Dad,” he tried to argue desperately, but his father turned his firm eyes to him and Brendon knew it was hopeless._

_“I-I don’t…Am I…” he couldn’t even get the words out._

_“We love you, Brendon. But until you…you fix yourself, or let God and us fix you, you aren’t our son.”_

_And that was the last thing Brendon could stand to hear. Without another word, he rushed out, grabbing the bag and trying not to let his eyes water enough for the tears to fall._

-

“There…there was enough money to buy some dinner and a bus pass to get to school…S-so, I lived around school for a while. They didn’t check the gym before they locked up, so I’d stay in my gym uniform and sleep in the bleachers, and then wait for them to open up and pretend to be exercising before school…but the janitors caught on and started kicking me out before they locked the doors. And I was never able to get to the shelters in time to sign up for a cot at night, so I started sleeping in the park.” Brendon wiped at his eyes again, face red and blotchy from all the crying.

“A-nd then Pete found me.” He cleared his throat when his voice cracked, “I ca-can’t do it again, guys. Please don’t leave me, I-I know I’m wrong and I kn-know you gu-guys alre-already have a-a pretty g-great family…I kn-know I’ll probably ruin it, I’ll make it wrong and I just-”

“Stop.” Patrick’s voice broke on the word and Pete noticed that his hands were trembling where they held onto Pete’s shirt in a clenched fist.

“Patrick,” Pete tried to sooth, but he knew it was too late.

Patrick didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t felt this deeply, this absolutely wretched for someone that wasn’t Pete or Andy or Joe in his life, and he didn’t know how to make it better for Brendon. If it were Pete, he would have pulled him tight and kissed him and told him he loved him until Pete realized how amazing he was, but this wasn’t Pete and he couldn’t do that. He loved Brendon, hadn’t realized just how much until this hellish wake up call, but he didn’t love him like he loved Pete. Patrick wondered in a faraway sort of way if this was what his father or brother felt for him, this weird swirl of parental protection and this brotherly affection.

But in the present, in the now, Patrick didn’t know what to do and so he did what he always did when his boys do something stupid and he didn’t know how to react right. Patrick got mad and he yelled, because yelling always made them _stop_ doing whatever they were doing and he hoped that it would work with making Brendon stop saying the things he was saying.  
“Brendon,  you idiot! Do you really believe that garbage your parents were spewing? Do you even realize how fucking proud we are of you, all four of us!?” His voice cracked hard and he took a deep breathe, wiping at his own eyes hard.

“I don’t care that it’s only been a few months, I don’t care about anything like that. I don’t care what your parents said, I don’t care that we aren’t really all that different in age, I don’t care that you aren’t related to any of us, you’re _ours_ , you idiot! You’re our _family_ now, you can’t get rid of us, and you’ll _never_ be left behind!” He had to stop again, his voice giving out with emotion.

Pete just watched him, watched them both, and his eyes were shining. Pete just didn’t even understand how he’d been able to find someone like Patrick. He’d never considered himself the family type, the kinda person who could offer another person stability or support, but being with Patrick, being with Brendon _and_ Patrick, it made him want to try. Pete _wanted_ to be there for Brendon, to be with Patrick and be there for Brendon with him.

“P-Patrick, Pete…I just…” Brendon tried to smile, his face was nearly shining but he still had to press his face to Pete’s shoulder. He shook for a while longer, before he eventually went still and his breathing evened out. Pete smiled at Patrick, amused when he realized that Brendon had fallen asleep, holding tight to his shirt.

Patrick laughed softly, still sounding choked and upset, but not nearly as much has he had when he was yelling.

“Come on, sweetheart.” Pete kissed Patrick’s forehead, then slowly stood up, moving Brendon until he was firmly in Pete’s arms. Patrick wiped his face hard, then stood as well, leaning against Pete for a few seconds before he pulled away and cleared a way to their bedroom. Pete set Brendon down on the his side, then climbed in on Patrick’s and waited for Patrick to crawl in next to him before he shut off the light again.

“He can just skip tomorrow, we have shit we need to work out, I think.”  
Patrick just nodded, reached for Pete’s cell and sent both Andy and Joe the same message, consisting of ‘take off tmoro, bden had bad nite – trick”, then hide his face in Pete’s shoulder after tossing the cell back onto the nightstand.

They slept like that until morning, the three of them curled up next to each other, all tear stained.

-

Brendon did skip the next day. He woke up in Pete and Patrick’s bed, alone, but hearing their voices and some clanging from the kitchen. He heard Andy and Joe too, and before he was even fully awake, he was brimming with nerves because he could understand Pete and Patrick, maybe, loving him, but he was still a little unsure of Joe and Andy. Would they feel the same as Patrick and Pete?

But he had to be brave, so he took a breathe and set up, scrubbing the crust from his eyes and the tear streaks from his cheeks before he stood up and made his way out to the kitchen.

“Bden!”

Joe grinned wide at him, almost beating out Pete’s wide smile, excited and bright, “So you’re coming with us! This is gonna be great, I’ll show you the ropes. You’ll love the road, it’s so cool,” Joe kept talking and Andy just rolled his eyes at him but he was grinning too so Brendon didn’t worry too much. In fact, he didn’t worry at all after that. He just set between them and Pete slid a plate piled high with facon and waffles in front of him, Joe slid a friendly arm around his shoulders as he continued talking about the tour, Andy nudged him and Patrick gave him a smug ‘told you so’ look that Brendon didn’t mind one bit.

They spent the rest of the day fucking around at the apartment, watching shitty TV and then, when that got boring (or when Patrick and Joe’s soaps ended and Andy’s reality shows were over and Pete and Brendon’s cartoons had finally stopped), they played ‘name that tune’. Patrick got that smug look on his face again when they heard Brendon’s singing, which made Brendon blush bright with pride. Patrick wasn’t surprised that he could sing, just like he hadn’t been surprised that Brendon had picked up the instruments they had laying around his room quickly, because Brendon was so obviously a part of their family it was a surprise that he wasn’t actually just related to them and being a musician just came with the genes.

Andy nodded along when Patrick explained it to Brendon and just added, “You’re like the little bro we didn’t know we needed.”

They all pretended not to notice when he scrubbed his eyes hard before they went back to playing the game.

Brendon slept well that night, exhausted from wrestling Pete and Joe before bed, and safe in the knowledge that he was where he belonged, and that his new family belonged to him just as much as he belonged to them.

Brendon finished his sophomore year with four A’s, two B’s and a high C in Chemistry. Andy brought home a vegan brownie recipe and Joe (the only one with any real cooking skill) made them a batch to celebrate that morning. At the end of the day, Brendon walked out of the school and had just begun his walk to the bus lines when he saw a large, white van with a bunch of colorful spray painted pictures all over it, and “FOB” spray painted in large, black letters across the doors. A small, metal trailer was attached to the back, where he knew their instruments and equipment were all packed up, safe and sound. His shit was in the first row of back seats, but the rest of the rows had been removed to make room for a single mattress piled high with pillows and blankets. They’d just bought that van last weekend with money they’d all been saving (even Brendon, who had sold out his voice to a few old people and a number of couples having romantic dates in the park whenever he got the chance), and had used some forgotten spray paint cans to decorate it. He also knew that there was a cooler with water bottles and enough junk food to feed his entire school. When he dropped his school stuff in the front seat and clambered in, he felt just as at home as he did in the apartment because Patrick was grinning at him from his sprawl on the mattress and Pete winked from where he was digging through the cooler for a can of something next to him, Joe was driving and staring intensely at the teenager packed roads while Andy fucked with the radio, picking the music they’d be blasting through the windows as they drove.

They were picking a few more guys up for the tour-some techs, their tour manager and Dirty (their everything guy)- on the way, but for the next four hours it was just them and Brendon was just fine with that.

-

When Pete came back from his emergency Walmart run, he was holding a bag of cheap 70-page notebooks and a more expensive, faux leather-bound notebook that he handed to Brendon with a grind.

“Here, bro. You’re gonna need this.”  
“For what?” Brendon asked with wide eyes, touching the cover carefully before opening it to look at the smooth, lined paper.

“You’ll want to write down all the shit you learn, trust me.”  
Fall Out Boy wasn’t quite big enough to not help out setting up, so Brendon was taught every trick his guys know on how to butter the roadies and techies up, how to get extra help and how to thank them right. He learned what people like to do while the shows are going on backstage, and he learned what people did after shows finished, when everyone was high on performance endorphins from a great show. Even Brendon would get the high, despite not performing, and he helped repack in a cloud of happiness. He worked the merch table for the most part and even the opening bands gave him a few bucks to hawk their own merch too.

It all passed so quickly, the shows and the crowds and the road, that it came as a surprise to Brendon when it was finally over and they spent the week  of freedom he had before he had to start preparing for school in Chicago.

Brendon had never been out of Vegas, let alone the state, so the new city was crazy, even if it resembled Vegas.

“Oh my God.” He laughed, looking at Joe’s soggy ‘fro as he slowly rose from the pool in Pete’s parents’ back yard, from where Patrick had just pushed him in.

They were leaving tomorrow so Brendon was staying with Pete and Pete’s parents while Patrick and Joe went to stay with their parents for the last night and Andy spent the night with Patrick. Pete’s dad was grilling though (tofu, veggies and fruits), so the band and their family had converged at Pete’s home.

Brendon was full from all of the food that their mothers had force fed him though, so instead of eating (and he’d sort of involuntarily become a vegetarian, he’d realized when he’d seen what was on the grill, though he didn’t mind), he just watched Patrick and Joe goof around in the pool and basked in the warm air. He was still trying not to feel so giddy that Patrick’s family liked him so much, that Pete’s and Joe’s seemed to share the sentiment. He’d wanted to impress them more than anything, and he’d even avoided spilling the beans about Pete and Patrick to Patrick’s family, which had been really good. He could see how hard it was for Pete to not kiss Patrick whenever he wanted to and how much Patrick was struggling to not touch him as often as he usually did, in such an intimate manner. Brendon hadn’t even noticed how close they always were until they weren’t anymore. It was a little distressing to see them both so unhappy when it was supposed to be a happy time, but they’d be leaving tomorrow and then it could go back to normal so Brendon hadn’t said anything.

“So we’re gonna leave early tomorrow.” Patrick said from next to him, making Brendon jump.

“Huh?”

Patrick rolled his eyes, but Brendon saw the fondness under the faux annoyance, “I said, we’re gonna leave early tomorrow, loser. Make sure Pete’s up and at ‘em, got it? Or he’ll drag ass until noon just so he can have his mom’s lunch too.”

Brendon nodded, grinning, “Got it.”  
“Good. We’re gonna relax for a few weeks after we get settled in, then we’re on a strict writing schedule and we’re gonna get serious about the next few songs.” Patrick settled next to him and stretched out, bare chested. Brendon tried not to blush at the way Pete was eyeing his boyfriend from across the yard.

“I’ve got some ideas for a song with these lyrics Pete gave me yesterday.” Patrick continued before he went quiet. His breathe evened out and Brendon smiled when he realized Patrick had fallen asleep. He’d been working at the new songs at night, so sleeping was probably a good thing now.

The return trip both excited Brendon and made him very nervous. He missed his city, as much as Chicago rocked, and he missed the apartment, the way the sun hit the wall just right and lit the whole room in a pretty orange in the mornings and the way the couch in the living room sunk when he fell into it and enveloped him in warm fluff. The one thing he would miss about Chicago, though, were the shows. Joe and Pete had taken him to a few underground shows, dark and dank and amazing. Patrick had showed him the places their own band had played and introduced him to Bill Beckett and Gabe Saporta, two really cool dudes that Brendon would definitely miss back in Vegas. He’d even hung out with Dirty, who had showed him Pete’s old stomping ground before he’d fallen in with his current crowd. It was crazy and he loved it, but he missed Vegas.

Despite that, he was nervous to go back too, to see how the trip had really changed him. And he _had_ changed. He’d grown. Even being gone two months, he didn’t feel like that scared kid he’d been a few months ago, who had let other people walk all over him and let his parents put him down and let fear hold him back. He’d seen too much amazing shit on this trip to be that person anymore. He’d watched Patrick throw up and get so sick he could barely walk due to the nerves he got on stage, seen how freaked out he got over making sure people just listened to Pete’s words and understood the message that they were trying to send. He’d watched him get on the stage anyway and sing until his lungs had given out (a line Pete had written on Patrick’s arms, wrist to elbow, “Sing Until Your Lungs Give Out” in his messy handwriting, the first time Patrick had gotten sick from stage fright and at every time since then), and then sing some more. He’d watched Pete fall into the first major funk he’d been with them to see (luckily, the other three had known what to do and so Brendon hadn’t freaked out too badly), and still go out on stage and play as hard as he could, and he’d watched Pete make himself see the good around him and appreciate it. Brendon wanted to be brave like he’d seen Joe be when he’d stood up to a man twice his size for being rude to a lady at a bar they’d snuck into, and he wanted to be as calm and controlled as Andy had been when he’d talked down a drug-crazed dude from stealing the van with Brendon and Patrick still in it.

The memory that stuck out the most, that he’d remember with the crystal clarity for the rest of his life, was when he’d been in the hotel room, sleeping off the last night’s show when he’d gotten a call from Andy saying Pete and Patrick were in a fight at another bar. He’d rushed to the hospital (praying to anything that he wasn’t pulled over and thanking Joe over and over for making him learn how to drive before they’d left Vegas), only to discover that little 5’4 Patrick had beaten the shit out of some douchebag for making fun of Pete’s eyeliner and touching Pete like he’d had some right to him because of his makeup. Pete had been swooning by Patrick’s side the whole time as he’d gotten stitches in the cut on his cheek and gotten his knuckles cleaned up. Brendon had laughed until he’d cried and then he’d cried a little for real because he’d been so scared that someone terrible had happened to them, and then he’d yelled a little bit under Andy’s approving eye.

So Brendon had changed, he’d decided that if his new family, the family he’d found all on his own (or had found him, really), could do all of that, could be so brave and calm and willing to fight to protect who they loved, if they could battle their own demons and win (if they could all sing until their lungs gave out, all in their own way), then he could stand up for himself a little more, put himself out there and stop hiding himself away because he let fear hold him back.

Yeah, Brendon had changed, and he was proud of _himself_ , for what felt like the first time in too long.

-

Brendon wanted to bleach his brain by the time they made it back to Vegas. He and Joe had fought each other hard for the passenger seat because the noises coming from the mattress in the back were making everyone very upset. The radio had been turned up to deafening levels but that never stopped the knowledge that Pete and Patrick were probably getting it on back there and that was the opposite of okay.

Finally, they’d reached the apartment and Brendon had slept in Joe and Andy’s apartment for the night.

“Are you sure?” Patrick had asked with a frown, trying to hide the bright red hickeys all over his neck, though Pete wasn’t trying to hide his at all.

“Absolutely. Go have fun.” Brendon waved him off with a laugh and he, Joe and Andy had spent the night in the living room, watching too-loud movies to make sure that the noises from across the hall stayed drowned out.

Finally, Brendon got back to his room the next day and the band spent it unpacking and relaxing at home.

“You think you’re ready to go back?” Pete asked that night, over a plate of partially unfrozen French fries and overdone noodles from a ramen pack that he’d lost the flavoring to.

“Don’t remind me.” Brendon groaned and hit his head on the table, “That place is actually Hell. How did you guys make it through high school again?”  
“Joined a band.” Both Pete and Patrick, who had just appeared from the kitchen with two bowls of flavored ramen because he didn’t lose their flavoring, said at the same time, making Brendon laugh.

Brendon grinned at Patrick when he handed him the bowl and stuck his tongue out at Pete when Pete made a disgruntled noise at having to get his own food.

“I dunno, do you think I’d be good enough in a band?” Brendon thought about it, frowning slightly as he looked at his noodles. He’d been working on the self-confidence thing with Pete, who could probably relate to his plight more than anyone else he’d met, but sometimes it was a little hard to keep up the positive thinking.  
“Definitely.” Patrick flicked his cheek, “You’d be great, as a singer or on an instrument.”

Brendon blushed but nodded, “I know.” He said with a little more confidence then he felt, but it made Pete grin at him so he didn’t mind the little white lie.

After that, the last of his summer slipped away without him even noticing.

Pete drove him to school that Thursday, nudging his shoulder before they got in the car to leave, “You have any problems, come get me. I’ll fuck bitches up, Bden.”

He was teasing, but his eyes were serious, so Brendon just hugged him tight and got in the car.

-

He came home that night with a black eye, some bruised knuckles and a story to tell to a fuming Patrick and Pete, who had the principal on the phone in a matter of minutes and Joe and Andy to listen to him tell them how he’d stood up to the jocks this time. After that first day, they didn’t bother him again.

“I met this kid,” he said at dinner one night in early December. Being a junior was a little harder than being a sophomore, but Brendon didn’t mind the extra work because he was finally an upperclassman and there were two whole classes that didn’t mess with him since he was older.

“Oh?” Andy asked distractedly, staring intensely at the sizzling pan of eggplant and some sort of leafy green.

“Yeah, he was in that class I started taking after school? The guitar lessons with the music teacher.”

“Oh, yeah.” Pete nodded, looking up from his lap top, where he’d been typing furiously, “Is the kid cool?”

Patrick rolled his eyes, “Is he nice?” he sent Pete a look.

Brendon grinned at them, “Yeah, he’s cool and pretty nice. His name’s Brent. He said his band is looking for a guitarist. He wanted me to try out.”

“Hey, that’s great, bro!” Joe called from the floor, where he’d been fucking around with a piece of roughed up paper advertising a pregnant bull dog Pete had found. They’d already bought one of the puppies but they already knew it’d be born with worms so they wouldn’t be able to pick it up for a few months after it was born. Joe and Pete had been arguing over which classic author to name it after and it was a tossup between Fitzgerald, Hemmingway, and Shelley right now.

“Yeah! You gonna do it?” Pete asked, standing to grab a plate for Andy to put the now burnt eggplants and leafy-shit on.

“I-I might. I was thinking about it.” Brendon looked down and stared at the math problem he’d been working.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”  
Patrick didn’t say anything, but his smile was enough for Brendon and Andy yelled a moment later, distracting them all and turning their attention to Pete, who was now sporting a new hair-do, egg-plant style.

The next week, Brendon agreed to try out for Brent’s as-yet-unnamed band.

“Great.” Brent smiled, “You cool to ride with me?”  
“Y-yeah.” Brendon nodded, trying not to appear too nervous as Brent grabbed his bag and lead him out to a small, beat up old four door.

“It’s a piece of shit, but it’s mine.” Brent shrugged at him when he tried to open the door, only to end up doing some sort of magic on it to get it open. Brendon just grinned at him and hoped like hell his door didn’t do what Brent’s did. Luckily, the world was smiling at him today, so it only took a little more force than usual for Brendon to get the car door open and he only stumbled a little when he got in.

He lost track of himself while Brent drove, fidgeting nervously and not really looking up from his lap until he happened to glance out the window and realize that they’d somehow gotten to the other side of town, the one with the big Catholic school full of those kids who always told Brendon he was going to hell for being LDS instead of Catholic. Regret immediately filled his whole body and he turned to Brent, “Hey, dude, you didn’t say it was a-”

Brent shook his head, cutting him off, “No, no, don’t worry! Spencer and Ryan, they go here, yeah, but it’s just because it’s a private school. They’re cool dudes, you’re gonna love them, promise.”

Brendon narrowed his eyes and looked at Brent hard for a moment before he slowly set back in his seat, “Okay. I’m trusting you, dude.”

Brent just nodded, “I swear. You’ll love them.”

And Brendon did.

 _Take This To Your Grave_ was playing when Brent led him into a garage in the nicer part of residential Vegas.

Ryan was taller than Brendon and skinny to the point of almost looking sick and he was cute but he was hard and intense too. Really, He was sort of scary but Brendon liked sort of scary, because Joe was really intense and Andy could get pretty scary too, and it really only took those similarities to his family to endear Ryan to him. Ryan was also fierce with his lyrics too, though he only let Brendon see one song for a few seconds before he snatched the paper away with a slight flush, and they reminded him of Pete’s, beautiful and sharp and clever.

Spencer was soft and sarcastic and the perfect balm to Ryan’s burns. He was gentle curves where Ryan was straight angles, he was the soft touch to the skinned knee that was Ryan’s biting commentary, the steady beat to Ryan’s chaotic guitar playing.

Brendon wondered if this was what Pete was talking about when he said the first time he saw Patrick, he knew he was in love. Because Brendon was struck dumb by them, and he wanted to be near them so intensely that it made him want to throw up.

He played a clumsy cover of “ _Hey, Jude_ ”, but he was so nervous that his fingers kept slipping on the strings and his voice cracked a little over the words. Brent, standing in the corner, had begun to look nervous as well, probably wondering why he’d thought a loser like Brendon would be any good in his band, with these two amazing boys.

Brendon finished off the song, finally, and there was a quiet for a moment before Ryan said, “Sing for us, Brendon.”

“What?” Brendon nearly choked out, throat still tight from nerves.

Ryan got a look on his face, stern and a little annoyed, so Brendon took a deep, deep breathe and thought of Patrick and what Pete had written on his arms, figured that if Patrick could get on stage, he could sing in this stranger’s garage.

He sung ‘ _Sugar, We’re Goin Down_ ’, the only other song the can think of right then, mainly due to the ‘ _watching you two from the closet, wishing to be the friction in your jeans_ ’ line, and when Ryan looks approving, he kept singing. He sung until his throat hurt a little and his lungs were aching for air, like if he didn’t take a breathe right that moment, he’d fall over dead, so he breathed and then sung some more. Ryan slid a paper in front of him after ‘ _Sugar_ ’, the lyrics to Blink 182’s “ _What’s My Age Again_ ” and Brendon sung it, barely noticing the beat Spencer set and the bass Brent had picked up and the guitar Ryan had finally added. He hardly noticed the world around him, even with the (clumsy, new, but) great sounds they were all making together, because he was singing like Patrick had told him to, until his lungs gave out. He thought of Pete and Patrick and that fucking park and all the amazing thing’s he’d gotten to see in his life, in only a few short months and he thought about how he never could have done what he was doing last year, and he was singing now because of the amazing people who had taken him in.

The song did end eventually though, and his voice disappeared into him again and all that they’re left with is Brendon. Just Brendon.

But the way Spencer looked at him, the way Ryan’s eyes were just soft enough for Brendon to see how truly excited he was, made Brendon think that for the second time in his life, just Brendon was good enough.

“We’ll call you.” Ryan said after they’d all collected themselves, but Brendon knew that he’d made it and Ryan was just trying to save face.

He laughed and nodded, “Cool. Uh, that’s a landline, so just ask for me, okay?”

“Got it.” Spencer answered for Ryan, grinning this fucking smile and Brendon had to leave right then.

“Bye!” He called, waving hard and dorky, before he ran out of the garage. He walked all the way to the end of the block and then into the corner store to borrow their phone to call Andy to come and get him, being the only one off work at the moment.

“How was it?” Andy asked when he pulled up in the van and shoved the door open for Brendon to climb in.  
“Great!” Brendon replied, still reeling a little, “They made me sing too. I think they really liked it.”  
Andy laughed and nodded, and they went to the small, vegan store to get something to celebrate.

That night, Andy and Joe turned in early and Pete wasn’t home yet. Patrick and Brendon curled on the couch together and turned on Family Guy like total losers.

“So it was good?”

Patrick’s innocent question opened a flood gate and suddenly Brendon was spilling everything, how pretty Spencer and Ryan were, how Ryan’s words were clever and cutting like Pete’s, how Spencer’s drums were just amazing and how when he sang, he finally felt it, that feeling Patrick always talked about at night, when everything was hidden and he didn’t feel stupid telling anyone about his feelings on stage.

Patrick laughed that soft, awesome laugh of his, the one that made Brendon think of happy times and soft looks and the feeling of home and safety.  
“It looks like you found it, finally. That place you belong.” He said after a moment, pulling his glasses off to clean them the way he did when he felt he was being too emotional.

Brendon just nudged him and rolled his eyes, “I found my place a long time ago, you dork. Actually, it found me. And I sort of punched it in the nose.”

Patrick laughed hard, until tears came out and Brendon laughed too.

When they finally calmed down, Brendon nudged him again, voice going soft and quiet, “Besides. I’d given all of it up, singing and that band, all of it, if it meant keeping my family.”

Patrick didn’t say anything back, but Brendon heard him sniff a little and clean his glasses again and Patrick punched him in the arm for almost making him cry so that was the end of the gooey moment.

The next day, Joe took him out to some restaurant with like actual meat, something Brendon hadn’t actually eaten in months, not since Chicago. He and Brendon didn’t get much time to just hang out, so Brendon enjoyed it a lot and he ate some weird chicken dish he’d never had before but was in love with. They went to a thrift shop afterwards and picked out a few neon colored skinny jeans for Pete and some weird hats for Patrick, and they even managed to find a few fucked up figurines for Andy’s collection.

“They’re gonna love these.” Joe smirked as the cashier rung up their shit. It came out to be under thirty dollars and they high fived like kids as soon as they left the store because if the unbudgeted expense was under thirty five, Andy couldn't yell at them (Pete's only added comment to their budget).

Ryan and Spencer called the landline and luckily Brendon answered it before Pete, even if he had to shove Pete to the ground to get there first. Ryan told him he was in as soon as he picked up the phone.

“We practice Wednesday, Thursday and Friday, from five to eight. Are you gonna need a ride?”

Brendon hesitated, then said, “Let me ask,” and turned to Pete, who was obviously listening in.

“Nah, we can take you.” Pete waved his hand carelessly so Brendon grinned and said, “No, I’m good. Thanks, dudes. See you tomorrow.” And that was that.

-

“I mean it, Bden. If anything happens, you call me.” Patrick gave him a look, pulling up to the familiar house.

“I promise.” Brendon laughed, already hearing the final notes of “Chicago Is So Two Years Ago” fading in the garage. He nodded at Patrick in goodbye with a wave, and then leapt out of the van and slammed the door shut just as Ryan poked his head out of the garage to see what was taking him so long.

It was a good practice. They needed work, definitely. They weren't perfect, Brendon has seen perfect (he’s watched side stage as perfection played for crowds across the country), and as beautiful has Spencer and Ryan were, they were no Andy and Joe and Brent was no Pete and Brendon could never compare himself to Patrick because if he did, he’d probably end up crying and never opening his mouth again. But, perfect or no, they were good. Brendon could feel the potential bubbling inside of him, demanding to be let out. He knew it from the moment he opened his mouth to sing for Ryan, the stage was his home and these people were his way to getting there, his “golden ticket”, as Pete called Patrick.

Practice lasted a little past eight and Brent left first. He waved at Brendon as he passed, mumbling something about a date and his mom wanting him home or something that Brendon didn’t quite catch on his way out. Ryan rolled his eyes after him but didn’t say anything as he and Spencer started to pack up and clean the water bottles and chip bags from the floor. Brendon could already feel Patrick’s disapproving eye at not helping clean up and he knew how tired his guys were after practice, sore and high off the music. Pete had told him over and over, a band is more than just making music together, it’s about taking care of each other, so he set his guitar in its case and made sure it was safe on the couch in the corner, and then he started helping clean up.

Ryan looked a little shocked, when Brendon glanced at him, that he had stayed to help but Spencer was the one that grinned at him, all comfortable and easy with teeth and eyes that matched.

“Thanks.”  
He flicked his hair from his face, still bent over to grab the crumpled chip bags from the floor and Brendon might have felt his knees buckle because _damn_ , Spencer was so pretty and perfect. He was sort of everything Brendon had ever secretly thought about, smart and kind and the king of sass (which, admittedly, was a thing Brendon hadn’t known he was so into). But in his weird fantasies, Ryan was there too and he was just as perfect, if unexpected, with his sharp personality and guarded emotions. Ryan and Spencer were a package deal, Brendon could already tell, they were the together forever kind of friends (“maybe more than friends,” Brendon’s brain supplied) so Brendon didn’t even bother pretending he didn’t _want_ both of them more than almost anything before.

He knew it was fucked up, wanting both of them, but he couldn’t help it. So he just locked his knees against their buckling and grinned wide at them both.  
“No problem, dudes. I mean, I helped make the mess didn’t I? I know it sucks to pick up alone and I don’t want to be a dick.” He finally said.

Spencer just rolled his eyes, but in a not completely annoyed way, and Brendon went back to picking up the empty water bottles and putting them in the small recycling box he’d spotted earlier. If Andy ever found out he’d thrown away good plastic bottles, Brendon wouldn’t make it out the door to run away in time.

The three of them cleaned in silence after that and Ryan didn’t say anything at all, but when Brendon heard Joe’s yell and the honk of the horn outside to get his attention Ryan sent him a thankful look as he left with a wave.

-

That night, Brendon came bounding into the apartment and flopped onto Pete and Patrick as soon as he saw them sitting on the couch together. Joe and Andy brought over some take out and the five of them spent the rest of the night having a band night, working on lyrics and notes while Brendon watched and learned.

Eventually, winter break happened and Brendon went back to Chicago with Pete and Patrick and Joe, and Andy went back to Wisconsin to visit his family and reacquaint himself with Fuck City (“It’s this house he and a few of his friends live in. It’s like a giant nerd cave but decorated with Andy’s awards so he can rub them in Matt’s face. Matt’s his platonic life partner.” Joe stage whispered when Andy first mentioned going back for Christmas). Brendon used the money he collected selling his voice again to buy four gifts. Andy had to wait to open his for when he got back to Chicago (where he’d spend New Years’ with them), so Brendon made Joe, Patrick and Pete wait too since he wanted them to open them together. He’d amassed a number of really cool cd’s and shirts from their families, Patrick and Pete had banded together to get him a keyboard (which had made Brendon squeal, he wasn’t going to lie) and Joe had picked out a kickass cell phone for him, which he’d put on his own bill (“It’s cheaper, bro. Don’t worry about it.” He’d argued when Brendon had tried to protest, and in the end, Brendon had given in and hugged Joe tight). Andy had given him a card, which had confused all of them, until Brendon opened it and read the message. Andy had pledged to give Brendon his first tattoo, free of charge and done by Andy’s own favorite tattoo artist whenever Brendon wanted it, despite being underage. Brendon had hugged Andy too, and they’d set a few hours later and Brendon had made Pete write the words on a paper. The six words written, when he got them enlarged and placed on his skin, ran from wrist to inner elbow on his left arm.

Brendon had watched nervously as they each opened their own gifts (a limited edition comic book for Joe, which Brendon had saved up for the longest; a record Patrick had been asking around for in Vegas for months, which Brendon had spent hours looking for in every music store in Vegas; a book detailing the history of the Anarcho-primitivism movement and related subjects for Andy, which he’d researched for at school with a ferocity that had made the librarian nervous; and finally, for Pete, he’d found a thick notebook with a binding made of a faux-fur Brendon had thought was probably the softest thing he’d ever felt. The papers were smooth, thick and blank, and he’d found it while hunting in antique and thrift shops) and when all of them spend the next half hour exclaiming over them happily, he relaxed.

The new semester, when he returned to school, wasn’t so bad. He still didn’t have many friends, he and Brent had completely different schedules and only saw each other at band practice and at the guitar lessons but other than that, his classes weren’t too hard and he liked his teachers.

So far, he hadn’t missed any band practices, (he hadn’t laughed yet at the fact that every time he’d walked into the garage so far Spencer and Ryan had been listening to one of the Fall Out Boy albums) which he had learned early on had been why the last guitarist had been kicked out (the missed practices, not the album playing), and Ryan and Spencer were warming up to him.

‘Everything’s going good for once.’ He thought with no small amount of pleasure half way through February.

It was Thursday and still cold on the tail end of winter, but his long sleeved shirt (used to cover up the mostly healed up tattoo Andy had delivered on, Pete’s chicken scratch hand writing etching out ‘Sing Until Your Lungs Give Out’ in permanent ink from his wrist to his inner elbow) provided enough cover to block out most of the chill.

Brendon paused outside of the school doors, stepping aside to give the crowds behind him the room to keep moving forward so he could look down and dig through his bag for his phone. When he turned it on, careful to have a strong grip on it so it couldn’t be thrown from his hands, he saw a message from Pete, ‘hurry up bro, ur gona b l8 ;p’ sent thirty minutes ago, and laughed.

He looked up, eyes searching for the van holding Pete and Patrick, and then he felt relief flush through his body that he had slid the phone into his pocket before he did so because the dread that had begun leaking into him from his fingers and toes and through his arms and legs would have caused him to drop it.

Behind their van, still covered in a rainbow of colors from their late night spray paint adventures, was his mother’s familiar minivan.

“Oh my god.” He heard himself whisper out loud, felt his heart slamming into his chest.

Patrick was talking in the passenger seat, looking a little enraged with his hands waving around like Brendon knew he picked up from Pete, turned to look at who was driving (probability Pete, Brendon thought offhandedly). Behind him, behind their van, Brendon’s mother set, speaking calmly to the driver, quite obviously his father, and the juxtaposition of two people who represented the two halves that Brendon had split his life into made his stomach turn and made his skin pale from its natural tan to what was probably a greenish hue.

And what was worse, neither of the pairs had any idea. His mother and father had no clue that the shitty van parked in front of them was holding two of the most important people in Brendon’s life, that he had slept for three months in the back of that van, that he’d smoked weed and drank alcohol and sold merch out of the back of that van, and they had no clue that he’d been the one to spray paint the thick, blue ‘fuck authority’ on the van’s back doors with Andy’s steady hand guiding his.

And Pete and Patrick had no idea that the light brown soccer mom car behind them held his parents, that that minivan had taken him to and from school as a young kid, had driven him around town on errands with his mom, had been the last thing he’d seen before he’d been kicked out of his house, parked in the driveway instead of the garage because his older brother hadn’t cleaned it out like he’d promised their mom he would yet.

The two cars, and the four people in them, had no idea what they represented to Brendon, the parents that just didn’t love him the way he needed and the strangers who’d taken him in with open arms and open hearts.

Brendon didn’t know if he could do what he’d always thought he’d do if he ever was faced with this situation, namely give them the bird and walk away. He didn’t know if he was strong enough to reject his parents, like they’d rejected him. It was just…they were his _parents_.

A ring caught his attention, desperate as he was for any sort of distraction from the monstrous situation in the drive of his school and he looked over and caught sight of Brent, leaning over his phone and looking guilty. Brendon thought of Spencer and Ryan suddenly, how their band was finally coming together as a group, if a slightly flaky one. He thought of nights practicing and Spencer’s smile and Ryan’s warming glances, and of Brent’s playful grin when they were breaking and he and Brendon would play old Beatles songs back and forth to each other on their guitars. He thought of Joe and Andy and Pete and Patrick, and of Fall Out Boy and the apartment waiting for him along with his favorite people in the whole world.  
Mostly, Brendon thought of illegally driving in a rush to get to the hospital, stumbling into the building in a panic, only to see Patrick with a bloody lip and a black eye and a smug grin, and a “You should see the other guy,” as his only explanation. He thought of little, 5’4 Patrick taking up for Pete even when Patrick hated fighting and he thought of how brave his new family was, how they didn’t take shit from anyone, never let others tear them down because they had each other, and it wasn’t a hard decision to make.

When Patrick got out of the van to let Brendon slide into the middle seat, he smiled big and a little nervous.  
“Hey, Bden.”

Brendon didn’t hesitate, just threw his arms around Patrick’s neck and hugged him as hard as he could. He knew Patrick was surprised, had that look on his face that meant he was pleased but confused because Brendon liked to show he loved them but he was always careful about touch, about who was watching. Like his parents.

But Patrick didn’t hesitate to hug back tight, and then kissed Brendon’s forehead the way Brendon pretended to hate but actually loved, and asked “Have a good day?”

Brendon nodded and grinned back at him when they pulled apart, “The best.”  
He hesitated before he got in, then nodded to himself and turned to give his mom and dad a look, to let them know that he had seen them and that he wasn’t choosing them. He wasn’t going to be that kid anymore, who would have given anything to have them take him back in. He was different now, stronger and brave and if his guys had taught him anything, it had been that no one was allowed to hurt you unless you let them and that _he_ was the one that controlled his own life, not his parents and not any other person.

So instead of getting in the light brown mini-van, the car he’d been climbing into since he was too young to remember, he raised his hand, letting the sleeve fall to his elbow as he gave them both the bird. He made sure that their dumbstruck faces got a good view of his new ink before he climbed into the car before Patrick slid back in.

Pete laughed hard, but Brendon noticed the relief in his voice, the relaxing of rigid muscles in both of them as Pete stepped on the gas and they skidded out of the parking lot on the razor’s edge of legal speed.

“You knew they were behind you.”  
Patrick stayed quiet a moment, then nodded, “They made themselves known. The school contacted them when the teachers finally noticed we were picking you up and dropping you off and that Andy was the one that went with you to talk to your teachers at the Parent-Teacher night a couple weeks ago. They recognized the van and wanted to have a chat before you got out.”  
Brendon’s fists clinched and he frowned hard and something finally occurred to him.

“You…you guys knew I was going to choose you, right?” he asked uncertainly, looking from Patrick (who looked at his lap), to Pete (who wouldn’t meet his eye.)  
“Duh!” Pete laughed, unconvincingly, “Of course we did!”  
“I.” Brendon frowned and reached out, grabbing Pete’s free hand and squeezing tight, “You two are so dumb. Of course I picked you. I love you guys and you guys love me. More than they ever did.”

Pete squeezed his hand back, almost to the point of pain, but the tense muscles of his arms finally relaxed and his smile finally met his eyes when he looked at Brendon.  
Patrick made a noise in his throat, cleared it and then looked out the window, “You’re both saps.” He finally coughed out.  
Brendon wasn’t fooled and so he spent the rest of the ride, “Just, can we go home? I’ll call Ryan in a bit.” He’d asked Pete, sitting on Patrick’s lap and being as obnoxious as possible.

When they got back to the apartment, Brendon went and set on the couch because his knees gave out before he reached his bedroom.

So maybe the encounter hadn’t been as ineffective as he’d pretended in the van.  
“C-can we just-just have like a band night?” He asked quietly when Patrick joined him on the sofa, curling into a ball once he’d kicked his shoes off and hiding his face in Patrick’s shoulder, inhaling his familiar scent to try to calm his racing heart and the burn behind his eyes.

“Yeah, of course.” Patrick replied immediately, running his hands through Brendon’s hair because Brendon was actually a little kid.

“Thanks.” He finally said after a few minutes of just enjoying Patrick’s attention (something all four of them were guilty of, Patrick gave the best hugs and the best forehead kisses and the best hair petting) and pulled away so he could hit the ‘6’ on his speed dial and press the phone to his ear.  


“Hello?” Ryan already sounded irritated, which sucked but at least it meant Brendon wouldn’t ruin a good mood with his news.

“Hey, Ryan.”  
His voice shook, but he coughed and cleared his throat and felt Patrick sitting next to him, a hand on the back of his neck comfortingly.

“Brendon? Are you okay?” Ryan sounded worried suddenly, but the last thing Brendon wanted was to worry him as well so he replied quickly, “Y-Yeah, yeah, I-I’m fine. Just. There was…there was this. This thing. A…family emergency? I-I can’t really make it to practice today. I really just needed to go home. I’m so sorry, Ry.”

And Brendon already felt the ‘you’re such a piece of shit’ feeling creeping up from his toes. He knew how much the band meant to Ryan and Spencer, how much it symbolized to them and how much it meant for Ryan to say, after nearly a minute of icy silence, “Okay. Okay, Brendon. But we’re making it up, got it? Friday, we’re practicing twice as long as normal.”

“Thank you.” He said with feeling, “I mean it, Ry, thank you. I just. Just, say ‘hi’ to Spencer for me? I’ll see you Friday.”

“Bye, Bren. Feel better.”

Brendon gave Patrick his phone after that and hid his face again. He heard Joe come in, followed by Andy a few minutes later, and he heard the kitchen come alive for a while as they made dinner but he didn’t move from Patrick’s embrace until he could smell the cooking sauce and already taste the noodles, Joe’s mom’s secret ‘It’s All Okay Spaghetti’.

They spent the night like any other band night, but Andy made it a point to hug Brendon hard and knock their foreheads together and Joe snuck him a little more whiskey then Pete usually let him drink. It wasn’t enough to get him drunk or even tipsy, but it gave the movies they watched all night a soft glow that they usually didn’t have.

Brendon wasn’t sure about a lot in his life, like what he wanted to do if the band fell through or what he’d do when he turned 18 and had to move out and take care of himself but he did know that the four guys sitting around him were the most important people in his life and he needed to make sure they knew that.

-

Ryan hadn’t even looked at him since he’d shown up, earlier than even Ryan and Spencer. Spencer hadn’t even smiled and if was making Brendon really nervous, but he still felt like he needed to thank Ryan again, maybe explain everything to them or something.

He waited until the four of them took their first break, one of Brent’s strings had broken and he’d disappeared to his car to get a new one.

“Ryan?” Brendon fidgeted as he walked over to Ryan’s side of the garage, a little nervous at the sharp look Spencer had shot him the first time he’d tried to get Ryan’s attention.

“What.”

Ryan didn’t look up from his guitar, where his fingers were plucking at a few strings experimentally.

“I just. I wanted to say thanks again. Yesterday was…was bad.”

He didn’t wait for Ryan to respond, he just leant forward and hugged him tight, careful not to knock their guitars together

“So, thanks, Ry. I know this means a lot to you and I know it took a lot to let me skip yesterday.” He whispered, squeezing Ryan’s slowly relaxing shoulders once more before he pulled away and fixed his guitar strap.

“I.” Ryan stopped talking and shoved his hands in his pockets, “Yeah, okay. You’re welcome.”

When Brent got back, they went back to practice but Ryan wasn’t as closed off towards him and he even smiled a little when Brendon winked at him, and Spencer shot Brendon a thankful, happy look along with one of his signature put-the-sun-to-shame grins.

They worked until almost ten o’clock before Spencer’s mom popped into the garage with a tired look on her face but an amused smile on her lips.

“Okay, boys. I think it’s time to go home, okay? I have work tomorrow and the garage echoes.”

“But mom,” Spencer started, frowning.

“No 'but’s, mister.” She wagged her finger at him, then shut the door behind her again as she left.

Brendon glanced at Ryan, who looked mildly upset because they still had a good two hours before they had made up for yesterday’s canceled practice and he said without thinking, “Let me ask my friends if we can use their practice space.”  
Ryan blinked at him and then gave him a bigger smile than usual, and Spencer flipped his sweaty bangs from his forehead and that was it, Brendon _had_ to get Pete to let him use the space or he’d _die_ , no doubt about it.

Brent checked his phone and winced, but Brendon ignored him on his way out to the parking lot, slipping his own phone from his pocket and texting Pete, a quickly typed out ‘can we boro ur practice space plz plz plz plz jst 4 lik 2 hrs plz plz plz’

Pete replied two minutes later, ‘sur but u’ll owe me $50’, and then a second later ‘jk jk ur doin th dshs ths wk tho’, and Brendon laughed, muttering “Fuckin’ Pete, he just _hates_ dishes.”

Then Patrick texted him that he’d been waiting a few blocks away so he’d be there in a few minutes. Brendon walked back into the garage with a smile.  
Brent’s gone, but the annoyed look on both Ryan and Spencer’s faces melted away when they saw Brendon grin.

“Patrick’ll be here in a few minutes. Should we pack up the drums? The space is empty right now since they haven’t really gotten around to unpacking their trailer.”  
“They’re in a band?” Ryan asked with a raised eyebrow, moving to grab the hard, black cases for Spencer’s drums.  
“Uh, you could say that.”  
“Are they any good?” Spencer asked, standing so he could start breaking down his kit carefully.

“Um.” Brendon flushed, “So there might be something I haven’t told you about the people I live with.”

Before he could answer to the frowns on both Spencer and Ryan’s face, Brendon heard the van pull up, the familiar ‘budump budump’ of the slowly deflating left front tire as it rolled up into Spencer’s driveway.

“Brendon?” Patrick called, Brendon heard him stepping out of the van and walking around to the back, where the door to the garage stood open.

Brendon watched the realization dawn on first Spencer and then Ryan’s face and Spencer barely got to Ryan before he just fainted and dropped like dead weight.

Brendon blushed, the same pride he’d felt every time he heard _Take This To Your Grave_ or Cork Tree running through him at the amazement in Spencer’s eyes and the awe on Ryan’s face.

“You’re Patrick Stump.”  
Patrick blinked then grinned, “Oh, hey. You must be Spencer and Ryan. I’m Patrick.”

“Patrick Stump of _Fall Out Boy_.” Ryan coughed, sitting up in Spencer’s arms.

“Oh, um. Yeah.” Patrick blushed and Brendon smiled, because Patrick was the cutest and Brendon just loved him a lot, okay, even when he didn’t realize how great he was, but then Brendon looked a little worried because Spencer was looking a little like he was gonna faint too.

“Oh shit, Spence!” He cursed, reaching out to steady Spencer’s shoulders, “You guys okay? Do we need to call your mom?”  
“Bren, are they okay?” Patrick asked, moving into the garage proper to check over Brendon’s shoulder.

“Y-yeah, we’re fine!” Spencer said with much more emotion then Brendon had ever heard before, “It’s just like.”

Ryan nodded hard, looking like he couldn’t make words come out, so Spencer continued, “No, dude. You’re Patrick Stump. We listen to you before every practice. Fall Out Boy inspired us to start this band! You guys are amazing!”

He sounded so excited that Patrick couldn’t help but let a sheepish, shy smile appear on his face.  
Brendon could see the second Spencer fell for it and got the totally smitten look on his face that everyone who met Patrick got at some point, even Brendon.

“Nah, we aren’t that great. I mean,” He got a worried look, “I mean, no, the others are awesome. I mean, me, I’m not that great, shit.” He cursed and frowned.

Ryan just got an intense look on his face and shook his head, “No, dude, seriously You’re one of our heroes.”  
And Brendon suddenly felt a little like a dick for not introducing them sooner. He knew that they were fans but the way Spencer and Ryan looked at Patrick, he thought that maybe Fall Out Boy was a little more influential then he’d thought.

Brendon snorted and shook his head out of his thoughts and nudged Patrick’s shoulder, “Shut up, dude. You’re just as great as the others. Pete’s gonna kick your ass if he hears you saying that stuff.”  
Patrick just rolled his eyes but he squeezed Brendon’s wrist as he turned to help them wheel Spencer’s kit out, which Ryan and Spencer must have finished packing up while he was thinking and talking to Patrick, and pack it into the back of the van.

-

Ryan wanted to scream.

He just wanted to throw his hands up and give up and scream.

Brendon had just nudged Patrick Stump’s shoulder, all casual, like it wasn’t The Patrick Stump, the kid who had showed Ryan that it wasn’t impossible to make it out of his home city and into the spotlight with his music like he’d always wanted to.

They loaded up the van and Spencer and Ryan slid into the back seat while Brendon took the front and he and Patrick started talking about like, their days and how everything had gone for each other. Brendon Urie, living with Patrick Stump and Pete Wentz.

All those times he’d mentioned Pete or Patrick, Joe or Andy, their trip to Chicago, the way he always  looked a little proud when he came in and saw them listening to Fall Out Boy.

It was starting to make sense to Ryan and it made him want to just scream, because the cute guitar player/singer who had the voice of an angel, who had stumbled into their band, always knew just what to say to make Ryan feel better and just how to smooth Spencer’s pricked fur when Brent was late for practice again, was also close friends of the band that had inspired he and Spencer to start this fucking band in the first place.

They stopped in front of a building with three rows of storage sheds behind it, where Ryan assumed they were renting one out as a practice space and Brendon grinned at him from the passenger seat before he hopped out and opened the back doors to pull out Spencer’s kit cases and their guitars.

“You know what number, Bden. Here.” Patrick tossed Brendon a key when he was done unloading, “We’ll bring you guys some food or something in a little bit. Get workin.” He winked at Spencer (who swooned just a little bit, to Ryan’s amusement), then pulled back out of the parking lot just to drive across the street to the brick apartments.

‘That must be where Brendon lives.” Ryan’s eyebrows said to Spencer.

‘Not bad.’ Spencer’s eyes replied, ‘Don’t mention it, he might not want to talk about his family life’, his lips and cheeks continued.

Ryan’s own lips turned down, a ‘yeah, okay’, and then they each grabbed at the kit cases and lugged them after Brendon, who had gone to storage container 15 and had begun fiddling with the locks.

“This part of town is sort of the musician’s digs.” Brendon rambled quietly as he forced the key into the rusted lock, “The apartments are full of guys and girls working on their music careers and this storage business sort of got converted to a make shift practice place. The people around the neighborhood have rented out most of the containers so no one ever complains about the noise since it’s like breaking the code or whatever. Anyway, this is it.”

He threw up the door and motioned to the empty container.

It was sort of perfect.

Ryan looked to Spencer who looked back and they both smiled at the same time.

Brendon cleared his throat and set the guitar cases down by the wall before he turned to look at them.

“So…I um, I probably have some explaining to do. You’ve probably figured it out, but I live with Pete and Patrick. I’ve mentioned them before but I was never…completely truthful. I had some stuff with my parents and I was sort of…homeless for a few weeks before Pete found me about a year ago. So. Yeah.”

Ryan frowned, glancing at Spencer, whose eyebrows told him not to bring it up, so instead he just watched Brendon, who was looking at nothing on the other side of the room.

He tried to imagine what he’d done in his life that would give him the karma he’d need to get Brendon and then decided that it must have been Spencer who’d done the good thing because Ryan never really got that lucky. He and Spencer had never gotten that lucky, actually. Good things sort of just slid right out of their grasp. They got quick looks at greener pastors, and then the gates would lock shut in their faces and they’d have to climb over the fence to get to the happy greener grass, only the grass would be gone or dead by the time they’d got there. Ryan knew the score and he knew that they don’t get cute, sweet guys who seem to understand that they were a package deal, and that they both had enough baggage to ground a plane, and they definitely don’t get someone who was all of that but also seemed to understand them at the level that Brendon seemed to, _and_ had connections to punk rock’s rising kings to boot.

So the last thing Ryan wanted to do was upset Brendon or give him the wrong idea. He nodded at Spencer, and then crossed his arms because he didn’t really have anything to say. He knew why Brendon had hidden his connection to Fall Out Boy, and truthfully, Ryan probably would have done the same. People could be dicks and people could use you for every advantage you gave and Spencer was the only person he’d ever trusted not to use him like that before Brendon.  
“So…Can you introduce me to Andy Hurley?” Spencer broke the silence with a rueful smile, and Brendon’s relieved smile made Ryan’s heart beat faster, like usually only Spencer could make it.

Brendon just nodded, but before he could reply, Ryan stepped in because he’d finally figured out what he wanted to say.

“Hey, Bren. Listen, dude.” He took a breathe and tried to ignore Brendon’s nervous expression, “This is fucking cool and I’m excited. But this is a onetime thing, got it? We’re going to make it, but we’re going to make it on our own and we won’t take handouts from anyone. Not even Pete Wentz.”

Ryan was expecting a frown. Maybe tears, knowing how emotional Brendon was. He was not expecting the happy smile that came to Brendon’s face, and _there_ were the tears he’d been expecting, except they looked a lot more happy.  
But Brendon locked his jaw and nodded hard, “Good. Good. I don’t want that. I want us to be the best because we’re the best.”  
“And we _will_ be the best.” Spencer smirked, sitting on one of his cases.

Ryan grinned back at Spencer for a moment, then moved to take his guitar from Brendon.

He opened it, and pulls his guitar out, but before Spencer can even do more than open his drum cases, Patrick walked into the garage holding a big bowl of what looks like mac and cheese. Pete Wentz, The Pete Wentz, followed him in holding an even bigger bowl of what can only be chicken nuggets (probably vegan, because Ryan read on Pete’s livejournal that both Andy and Patrick are non-meat eaters, and Pete was gonna try it out himself). Joe Trohman and Andy Hurley followed them, one holding what looks like plastic plates and forks and the other some ketchup, barbeque sauce, and mustard. Joe was also toting a small cooler behind him with no lid, filled with some half-melted ice and what looked like most of a twenty four pack of water bottles in there.

Spencer nearly broke his sticks, not having noticed the new arrivals, when Andy called, “Hey, Bren, we wanted to meet your band and embarrass the shit out of you.”

Ryan plucked them from Spencer’s clenched fist before he broke the only pair he brought with him, and tried not to feel irritated that they were being treated like kids on a playdate.

But then Pete set down and Brendon rolled his eyes, “Geez, Pete.” He said fondly.

“Yeah, it was his night to cook.” Joe laughed and then grabbed the nugget bowl from Pete to pile some onto a plate. He passed up the mac and cheese and instead dug into the microwave nuggets.

“Oh.” Ryan blinked.

No, they weren’t being treated like kids. The band actually just ate microwave vegan chicken nuggets for dinner. Like, that was a normal thing, judging by how Patrick stole the nugget bowl back while Brendon lifted the mac and cheese from his lap to sit it on his own.

“Guys?” Brendon blinked, looking up at Ryan and Spencer, “Hungry?”  
“Um.” Ryan’s voice gave out because oh my god, Fall Out Boy.

“Y-yeah.” Spencer cleared his throat, “Yeah, sure.”  
He gripped Ryan’s wrist and made him walk over to the circle of punk rockers sitting on the ground of the storage shed and set next to Brendon, pulling Ryan down with him because he knew that if he didn’t then Ryan would just stand there, frozen.

He couldn’t really speak, so he just leaned against Spencer and let him take over. Even though he was younger, Spence always knew what to say, what to do. Sometimes, Ryan got mad at himself for putting so much on Spencer, making him be not only himself but Ryan as well, but Spencer just hit him the one time he brought it up so Ryan didn’t mention it anymore. He didn’t know what he’d do without Spencer, but it probably wouldn’t be much.

When he thought of actually talking to any of them, he could feel the anxiety build up in his chest. What if they didn’t like him? What if he made an idiot of himself and they never made it because he accidentally insulted Fall Out Boy in their own practice space and it was all Ryan’s fault? What if they lost Brendon?

And Spencer understood that, so when Joe Trohman offered his hand to them, Spencer shook it himself and introduced both himself and “my best friend, Ryan.”

And they started talking, which was just crazy, that Ryan and Spencer got to talk to Fall Out Boy.

“So who plays guitar?”  
Spencer was about to deflect, Ryan having tensed up next to him, but Brendon answered, “Ryan.” Without a thought and Joe zeroed in on Ryan.

The next thing Spencer knew, Ryan was deep in conversation with The Joe Trohman about sounds and techniques and where he learned to play and who did Ryan listen to?

Ryan sort of felt surreal.

And the next thing Ryan knew, he was talking to The Pete Wentz about lyrics with Patrick chiming in (The Patrick Stump!) about musicality, and he was listening to one of his favorite lyricists of all time rant about metaphors and emotion and poetry and the power behind music, and his own writing process and his opinions on the world around them. Ryan didn’t really know what to do except nod in the right places and pay as much attention as possible.

Before he even knew it, two hours had passed and not a note of music had been played aside from Andy picking up Brendon’s guitar (Spencer swooned again) to show Ryan something with the string work. Ryan didn’t count a second of it as wasted. They’d spoken enough about music for hundreds of new ideas to circle and play around in his head and Ryan was just. He was just so happy.

“Oh, geez.” Patrick said around like one in the morning, “You guys spending the night?”  
Ryan and Spencer traded a look then looked at Brendon.

Brendon blushed and smiled, “I mean, if you guys want to.”

“Yes.” Spencer said immediately, looking back at Patrick. It was a Friday anyway so his mom wouldn’t mind and Ryan’s dad probably hadn’t even noticed he was gone.  
Pete laughed and nodded.

“Cool, come on, leave your drums and stuff here. We’ll lock the door and come get them out tomorrow.”

It was the coolest night Ryan could remember having in a long time. The guys were just fucking awesome and Brendon continued to prove just how amazing he was throughout the night. By four in the morning, Ryan was curled up tight in Spencer’s side, head resting on his shoulder as they snacked on vegan nuggets while Pete and Brendon played ‘name that tune’. Patrick was asleep against Joe on the other couch and Andy had stretched out on the floor beside their couch while Ryan and Spencer shared the recliner and Pete and Brendon made themselves comfortable on the floor.

Earlier, Joe had broken out a small blunt and, after a pleading look at Patrick from Brendon, the three of them had gotten a tiny bit high along with Joe (and Ryan hadn’t missed the toke Patrick had stolen and shotgunned to Pete when no one was looking.)

Ryan grinned just slightly, watching Pete finally pass out and then Brendon follow him. He knew Spencer was close to sleeping as well, his head heavy on Ryan’s.  
“This was great.” He said softly, the only voice in the quiet of the room besides the My Chemical Romance album playing softly. The coolest part of the night had probably been when Patrick had forgotten they were there and kissed Pete when he’d beaten Brendon and Joe at the card game the three of them had started up (Bullshit or Go Fish! or some mix of the two) and then blushed bright red when he’d remembered that they hadn’t been alone. Spencer had just smirked at Ryan and said “I told you.”, which had made Pete laugh so hard Patrick kicked him.

“Really great night, Ry. Now sleep.” Spencer hummed back and kissed his head.

Ryan closed his eyes, relaxing into Spencer’s arm around his shoulders.

“Night.”  
“’night, Ry.”

-

The next afternoon, Brendon happily helped Spencer load his unopened cases into the back of his mom’s car when she showed to pick he and Ryan up.

“That everything?”  
“Yeah, Ry’s guitar’s in the back seat.” Spencer stretched out and glanced around to make sure no one was watching before he yanked Brendon into a tight hug.

Brendon’s breath caught in his throat and he forgot how to breathe.

“Spence?” he nearly squeaked, confused but not stopping his arms from wrapping around Spencer’s pretty, soft hips and hugging back tight.  
“You’re the best, Bren. Seriously, this was great.”

“Ye-yeah? Any time, Spencer, seriously.” Brendon blushed and tried not to think about Spencer’s body pressed so tight to his own. The hug was the most physical contact he’d ever had with Spencer, more used to like bro-hugs and such from him.

Spencer pulled away and Brendon forced himself to let him go before he shoved him up against his mom’s car and kissed him. Luckily, they had separated by the time Ryan turned the corner of the car, arms crossed and a small smile on his lips.

“Hey.”  
Brendon, still blushing, grinned back, “Hey-”

And suddenly, Ryan was hugging him too. Brendon figured he’d died or something and this was heaven. Ryan was different pressed against him, sharp and skinny to Spencer’s soft and kinda pudgy. Brendon couldn’t decide which one he liked more so he decided, as he hugged Ryan back tight, that he’d just enjoy them both equally.

“Thank you.”  
Ryan’ voice was soft, whispered against the skin of his neck, and Brendon just barely held back his shudder.

“There’s nothing to thank me for guys, seriously. This…these guys are my family. And you guys are my family. I wanted you to meet.”

Spencer flushed red and Brendon’s heart skipped a beat where it was pressed to Ryan’s chest, oh God these two were going to be the death of him.

“So, we’ll see you on Wednesday. Text us, okay?” Ryan cleared his throat and stepped back, Brendon tried not to reach forward and tug him back, crossing his arms.

“Y-yeah, definitely. See you guys then.”

“Bye, Bden.”  
“B-Bye, guys.”

And then Brendon watched them drive off, disappearing into the backseat, probably to lay down and sleep off the activities of last night.

Brendon put up with the ribbing he got from the guys the whole night with good humor because those hugs were worth much more than some teasing.

-

Weeks passed like hours to Brendon after that night.

His birthday came up and suddenly he was seventeen and it was…it was crazy. They had a small get together at the apartment, Brent (who was just as overwhelmed to meet The Fall Out Boy) and Joe and Ryan and Andy and Spencer and Patrick and Brendon and Pete, the eight of them eating pizza and drinking soda. Patrick even turned a blind eye to Joe’s present to Brendon (“There is so much weed in that bag.” Spencer said in amazement. “You share, right?” Brent said. “Brendon, oh my god.” Ryan laughed.). A couple days later, Brendon and his guys had a smaller, more personal party and Brendon got a cake that said “Congratz on One Year!” that should have been like a birthday cake but had a shitty icing scrawl on it instead to mark his year with his new family. Patrick cried in Pete’s shoulder and Pete had to hide his own tears while Joe pinned Brendon to the ground and wrote on his face in sharpie. Andy took pictures and laughed but Brendon didn’t miss him roughly scrubbing his eyes when no one was looking or the tender look Joe gave him when he thought Brendon was sleeping.

Their band, tentatively named Panic! At the Disco, got better and better, practicing three or even four nights a week. Occasionally, Patrick or Joe or Pete or Andy or some variation of pairs would come in and give advice or help them out a little bit, but for the most past they practiced by themselves and learned from each other. Brendon was happy, even though Brent had become a little more distant as their demoing list got longer. Brendon just figured that it was the threat of success that was stressing him out, as well as the end of their junior year in a month. Ryan was graduating this year and he’d already decided to take a few local classes at the community college while Spencer, Brent and Brendon finished up their schooling. Finally, Ryan picked three of their original songs (Tacks, Camisado, and Time to Dance) to demo and send out to record labels, so the four of them went job hunting. Spencer and Ryan both got jobs working for a small antique shop in a small tourist area while Brent donated half of his allowance (about $50 every two weeks) while Brendon had Andy help him land a job at the Smoothie Hut down the street from his tattoo parlor. Though he worked below minimum wage, the tips were great, especially when he sang while he made the smoothies. Pete and Patrick had offered to donate to their cause but Brendon had refused immediately. He was already taking their love and their space and he wouldn’t bother them about this, especially as they were beginning their own-tentative-recordings for the newly named Infinity On High.

The last week of school, they recorded the demoes in Ryan’s garage while his father was at work. By the time Ryan was done mixing and perfecting the three songs, it was almost two weeks into the summer and band practices had been scarce due to Ryan spending all of his time with the demoes.

Finally, he called the three of them to his house and played the demo for them.

Yeah, Brendon thought when he first heard it, it wasn’t the best. But the potential for success was apparent in every line he heard his own voice sing and in every beat of Spencer’s drum, every strum of Ryan’s guitar and Brent’s bass.

“Who’re we sending to first?” Spencer was the first to speak after the final notes from Camisado faded into the air.

“I dunno.” Ryan frowned, “I figured we’d post them online, then send a few hard copies to some indie labels?”

Brendon’s own thoughts on who to give the demo to would piss Ryan off so he kept his mouth shut and let it stew until after he’d thought on it for a few days.  
Finally, after practice a few days later, he stayed behind after Brent left.

“So.” He said uncertainly. He’d thought it through and had decided that his idea wasn’t as based on emotion as he’d at first believed.

“So?” Spencer asked, frowning from where he set bent over his drums, replacing his drum stick holder because of the long crack he’d accidentally added to it during practice.

“So I think we should show the demo to Pete.”

Ryan’s guitar made an ugly, high note.  
“What?”

“No, listen, listen.” Brendon stood and held his hands out, in the universal ‘I mean no harm’ way he hoped would calm Ryan’s fury before it began.

“Look, look, okay, Pete’s started his own label off of FBR, right? Now, our sound is unique, the only band who even sounds marginally like us is Fall Out Boy, who we’re all friends with already. This business runs on friendships, okay? So we already have that in our corner.” He took a breath, tried to ignore the furious stare Ryan was giving him, “None of us are actually a part of the business but we all know it’s brutal. Four kids, just out of high school, we need someone to show us the ropes and look out for us. Pete’s the only person I trust to do that, to give us a fair deal even though we don’t know exactly what we’re doing, like their first label did with ‘girlfriend’, right?” he bit his lip, “And. And Patrick is producing Decaydance and I want to be a part of that. I want us to be a part of that. Just…just think about it, okay?”  
Brendon looked down and crossed his arms but not even breaking eye contact made Ryan’s glare any less intense.

“He’s right.”  
Spencer caught both their attention, setting down his screw driver and frowning, “He’s right, Ry. We already know we can trust Pete and having connections Is important. Who’s more connected in the music circle we want in on then Pete Wentz? I heard they were going after The Academy and Pete has his eyes on other unique bands, all of whom don’t fit in with any one genre. Like us.”

Ryan took a breathe and Brendon blinked and looked at him hard, because no way was Ryan really going down without more than a glare.

“What if he signs us just because…” he didn’t have to finish the sentence, the ‘ _because of Brendon_.’ was loud and clear.

“He wouldn’t. This is business and Pete Wentz is a business man.” Brendon said, sounding strong. He felt strong. He knew Pete wouldn’t sign them unless they deserved it. Even if Pete wanted to, Patrick would stop him because Patrick and Andy wouldn’t let their personally feelings get in the way, not even for Brendon.

“You’re sure?”  
“Yes.”

Spencer nodded and stood to grab one of the few hard copies they’d made to send out. He tossed it to Brendon, who looked at Ryan.

Ryan didn’t meet his eye, but he nodded, “If you and Spencer both think it’s a good idea, then do it.”

-

Brendon hadn’t felt this nervous walking into the apartment since the first night Pete had brought him back, his stomach turning and his skin sweaty.

“Hey, guys?”  
Pete and Patrick were on the couch, obviously a few minutes away from sleep and a rerun of Family Guy on the TV.

“Bden? You home?” Patrick mumbled, rubbing his face into Pete’s chest before sitting up a little to look at him through his mused up, red hair.

“Yeah, I’m back. I actually had something I needed to talk to you and Pete about. Bad time?”  
“Nah.” Pete shook his head and grinned at him, rubbing his own face before he set him.

He was shirtless, his tattoos apparent against his dark skin and against Patrick’s pale skin, they made a great pair aesthetically. Brendon knew they were basically yin and yang, though, and he was suddenly jealous of their relationship and so happy that they’d found each other somehow that it made him floaty.

“What is it, Bren?”

“Well. It’s like. Um. Can we sit at the table? It’s business talk.” He took a breath, trying to sound older and mature. It didn’t last long because he wasn’t older and if he was mature then he hadn’t heard about it yet. But Pete and Patrick exchanged a look and then both were getting up and humoring, sitting next to each other at the kitchen table with twin looks of thinly veiled interest.

“Okay, so.”  
He set the demo tape in the middle of the table and set across from them, fingers not leaving the tape.  
“So, this has three songs on it. We’re…we’re sending them out in a few days. I, um. I want to show it to you.” He frowned, looking at the table, “I know, I know that to a lot of people it’ll look like I’m just trying to use our relationship to get signed or whatever, but…”  
“We know, Bren.” Pete smiled, reached over to the tape. For a few seconds, the tips of Brendon’s fingers and the tips of Pete’s were interlocked over the tape and then, with difficulty, Brendon moved his fingers and Pete slid it to his and Patrick’s side of the table.

“I, um, I’m gonna go like. Hang out with Andy and Joe. I can’t like, watch you listen to it, it’s too, I’ll just.”

He stands up, looking up finally to see their expressions. Pete looks serious but excited and Patrick looks calm, a small smile on his face.

“Go on, Brendon. Come back in a few hours, okay?”  
“Got it.” He nodded, then left out the door, going over to Joe and Andy’s to tell them what was going on and watch a few movies. He didn’t really remember a single one of them but he did remember Andy’s arm around his shoulder and Joe’s feet in his lap.

He knew and Pete knew that their relationship couldn’t impact Pete’s decision so Brendon took a breath half way through the animated Lord of the Rings movie and made himself forget that his future and the future of his band was in the next room being played on Patrick’s old cassette player.

Around one in the morning, Brendon eased Joe’s feet off his lap so he didn’t wake him and gave Andy a nervous smile.

“Wish me luck.”  
“Man, you don’t need luck.” Andy rolled his eyes but he pulled Brendon into a tight hug, “Go get your record deal, dumbass.”  
Brendon couldn’t help but laugh and nod, “See you tomorrow, Hurley.”  
“Night, Bden.”  
Brendon left and kept up his confidence all the way to the door of his own apartment before he lost it.

He couldn’t make himself open the door for a good ten minutes, just stood and stared at the peeling green paint before he slowly turned the handle and pushed, half hoping they’d gone to bed.

Instead, he found them at the table, big grins on both their faces and Camisado playing.  
“Brendon, this shit is great. Seriously, you’re gonna be so big, I can’t even wait.”

“So…so that’s a yes?”  
“Hell yes, you idiot.” Patrick shook his head, “You guys definitely need work, but by the time you get a full album out, you’ll be seriously wicked. Nothing will stop you.”  
“Seriously?” Brendon finally squeaked out, eyes going from Pete to Patrick and back a few times, “Really really?”  
“Yes, really really. Go call your band and tell them I want to sit in on a practice.”  
Brendon laughed and nodded. He turned to rush to his room to call Spencer and Ryan but then turned back around and leapt onto Pete first, hugging him tight. Pete caught him with his loud donkey laugh and he swung them in a circle a few times so he could get the momentum out of the hug instead of toppling over.  
“Thank you so much!”  
“You’ve earned it, kid.” Pete squeezed him back quickly then pushed him towards his room, “Hurry and call. I know Ryan likes advanced notice for people in on the practices.”  
“Oh shit, yeah, okay, okay, I’ll go call them, I just, you’re the best, geez, okay!”

-

“Ryan and Spencer cried.” Brendon said excitedly the next morning.  
Pete smiled. He was so glad that Panic! was actually good. He didn’t know how he could have said no to Brendon if they’d sucked.

Patrick set next to him and nudged him, “What about Brent?”  
“Hm? Oh, he didn’t answer. I texted him though.” Brendon said as he set a plate of vegan bacon in the middle of the table and then some toast.

“Oh?” Pete asked, raising an eyebrow. He’d had his doubts about Brent since he’d first heard of him. Some guys were more for a local scene, like their own guitarists and drummers had been before Andy had come in and Patrick and Joe had decided to team up on guitar. Some guys, like Brent in Pete’s opinion, didn’t want a life that the international stardom Panic! was going to bring with it. Traveling all the time, a new city every night, camped out in a cramped up van with a bunch of other dudes, playing and practicing and breathing music every day and night with few breaks and even fewer days off.

But it was Brendon’s band, and what he and his bandmates decided to do was their own business. And also, Patrick had made him promise not to bring it up. Pete knew he might have been a little hard on Brent for a kid in high school that he’d only met once before, but he also knew he wasn’t wrong at all. Despite that, a promise was a promise and a promise to Patrick was even more of a promise so he kept his trap shut.  
“That’s great. What’d Ryan say about the practice?”  
“He said whatever works for you. And then he cried some more.” Brendon grinned again and Pete almost rolled his eyes at just how smitten the kid was with Ryan. And Spencer, for that matter. Pete had worried at first, what would happen when those two hooked up and Brendon was left in the dirt, but then he’d seen the warm look in Spencer’s eyes and the blush that stained Ryan’s cheeks every time Brendon talked to him. He really didn’t want to know what that relationship was gonna look like when the speculative look in Spencer’s eyes was through with it.

“Oh, uh, what? Sorry, I spaced.”  
Patrick rolled his eyes, irritated but fond, and flicked his hand, “I said, we have to record this week but we’re free Friday if you wanna go to that practice.”  
“Oh, yeah, that’ll be great. Let’s do that. You gonna come too, Pattycakes?”  
“No, I’m gonna let you do your magic first and get a feel for them without my input.”

Brendon blushed again but the wide grin wouldn’t leave his face and hadn’t for the last fifteen hours.

“Okay, okay.” Pete waved at them both, “So Friday. You guys better practice hard because this Friday, Decaydance is comin’ your way.”  
Brendon just smiled harder.

-

The practice went well. Like, really well. Pete loved the demoes, even if they weren’t technically perfect, but the practice was what he really needed to seal the deal. Their energy was just crazy. Ryan and Brendon played off each other great, they were gonna be the Pete and Patrick of Panic! he could already see, and Brent clicked great with them even if he hadn’t been as excited as the other three.

So Pete took them to Taco Bell the next Monday, around seven for dinner and some conversation. The summer night was cool, but he was still sweating in the no-AC building. Patrick set next to him, holding the contracts. Joe and Andy had wanted to come, to see Brendon signing his first contract into the musician life but Andy had been called into work for an emergency. Some dude had sliced up his arm real bad in some motorcycle wreck or something and Andy had needed to go in and fix up his script. Joe had been felled by some sort of death plague that had Pete wearing a mask every time he entered the apartment just so he didn’t catch it too and Patrick had ordered him not to get out of bed unless there was a fire.

Pete had promised to take pictures for them.

So now, Taco Bell. Brendon was nearly vibrating in his seat he was so excited, Ryan and Spencer had both taken the ‘too cool for school’ approach and were both trying to not so much as fidget.

Patrick thought that it was the cutest thing ever, Pete could tell by the way he was trying not to smirk behind his own blank face.

Pete could also tell that Brent was ten minutes late, but his tacos were great and he liked the little cinnamon twisty things so he didn’t care as much as he would have otherwise. He was a little annoyed, but one look at Brendon’s shining face and it was sort of worth it.

Brent finally showed up, walking in with his phone out and his head ducked, but luckily for him (Patrick had that ‘about to go off on a bitch’ look on his face so Pete gripped his knee hard to stop him, because a promise was a promise), he shoved the phone in his pocket and set next to Spencer in the booth with a mumbled bullshit excuse.  
Pete waved him off with a grin and then Patrick slid the contracts over to them.  
“Okay, this is the basic contract. When you’re ready to make your first album, we’ll renegotiate but for now, this is just a simple agreement…”  
Pete spent about an hour going over the contract. Eventually, he just started speaking directly to Spencer, who seemed to be the only one who really understood what he was saying. Until they hired a band manager, Spencer would be subbing in so Patrick took over when Pete was done and went over the more personal and less business-associated aspects to him as well. They covered van safety, what to expect on tours and when to expect an album completed and so on and so forth. Finally, they had nothing left to say so Pete set the contract in front of Brendon and gave him his favorite ink pen. He knew Brendon would recognize it for what it was, the pen he wrote most of his poems and lyrics in and the pen he’d used to write the words now tattooed into Brendon’s arm.

And he did recognize it, sending Pete a sparkling grin that really should not have made Pete’s heart so happy. Patrick squeezed his hand under the table and he couldn’t keep the stupid grin off his face as Brendon read over the contract, like Andy had taught him to (they’d learned their lesson with _An Evening Out With Your Girlfriend)_ then signed and initialed and dated the paper. He slid it to Ryan, who did the same, who then slid it to Spencer, who repeated his own name and initials, and finally to Brent. Pete watched him carefully but Brent finally, after a hesitation that had Pete’s hand squeezing hard enough for Patrick to nudge him, signed his name and initialed the paper. Patrick took pictures the whole time with his free hand.

“And that’s it.” Pete almost didn’t recognize his own voice.

“That’s it?” Ryan asked slowly, obviously trying not to smile.  
“Yep. You are now part of Decaydance, Pete Wentz’s label.” Patrick rolled his eyes but he was grinning wide so it didn’t even matter.  
“I want you guys working on an album now. When our record drops in a few months, we’re going on a tour for it and we want you guys as an opening act. You’ll be performing with another band I plan to sign, The Academy? You’ll like them. They’re different too.” Pete offered his hand and grinned when Ryan took it with a firm grip.  
“Welcome aboard, dudes. You made it.”

Spencer looked like he might faint.

“So if I were you, I’d start saving up now and getting Spencer’s van ready to go. You’re in charge of your own merch, your own instruments and your own band members. We’ll talk more closer to the tour. For now, you guys celebrate. You’re officially a signed band!”

The six of them pile out of the booth since Pete and Patrick had to get back to the apartments to tell Joe what was up and catch some sleep before crunch time rolled around on Infinity On High.

Pete grinned at Brendon, who laughed excitedly.

Patrick was trying not to hug Brendon because he’d gotten so used to how tactile his own band was that sometimes he forgot that Brendon wasn’t the hugest of huggers (‘yet’, Patrick always thought. Brendon was doing a lot better and Pete was of the opinion that once he finally got his confidence to match his talent and potential, the kid was gonna be a taller Pete.), not to mention that he was a teenager now and Patrick wasn’t the coolest cat in the world (a huge lie). Brendon just laughed again and hugged Patrick hard. So hard it looked like it was going to bruise, just like Patrick had hugged him that night last year. Patrick’s eyes got big, then wet and he hugged Brendon back just as tight, kissed his hair like he did when they were in private.

-

Brendon might have been seventeen, almost an adult, but he’d never be too old to hug Patrick Stump. When Patrick’s arms went around him, he clung tight and hid his face in Patrick’s shoulder. He didn’t remember having to bend so far down to do it, but he didn’t care as he felt Patrick kiss his head like he always did. He almost didn’t want to let go. He always felt safe in Patrick’s arms because he knew he’d always protect Brendon, and he felt the same with Andy and Joe and Pete. When he and Patrick separated, he’d have to go back to the real world, where he was an almost adult and ready to leap out into the world.

But eventually, he had to pull away because he felt Pete nudge Patrick. Patrick blinked hard when Brendon looked at him but he smiled huge and Brendon felt like everything was going to be okay. Before Brendon could say anything, Pete yanked him into a hard hug too. Pete had never been one for long, lingering hugs, but he didn’t let go for a few minutes and Brendon didn’t mind at all.

Finally, they both took a step back and Patrick grinned again.  
“Take care of this dumbass.” He looked at Spencer, the only one with a car right now (the van, given to him by his grandma), “I’m trusting you to get him home at some point, got it?”  
“Yes, sir.” Spencer saluted and Patrick laughs but Pete waved hard and grabbed Patrick’s hand to drag him out before he could say anything else.

They hop into their own van and speed off, “Probably to go fuck like bunnies now that the kids are away.” Ryan commented as they watched them go.

Brendon gagged and Spencer blushed bright red.

“I’ll see you guys later, family dinner, you know?” Brent said softly, already walking away. He looked a little nervous that they’d call him out but Ryan didn’t say anything and Spencer just shook his head so Brendon didn’t say anything about Brent telling them last Friday that his family would be away this weekend.

Spencer fidgeted a few seconds after Brent got in his car and drove off, and all Brendon could think about was how happy he was.

He caught both of their hands, kissed each of them on the cheek and burst out with “Spencer Smith the Fifth, Ryan Ross, we’re going to be so fuckin’ big, we’ll bring the world to their knees.”  
Spencer just laughed out loud and grinned big, Brendon has never seen it before and he knew Ryan hadn’t seen it in a very long time (they talked once, when Spencer was too sick to drum and Brent had bailed, so it left Brendon and Ryan alone in Spencer’s garage strumming away at guitars and speaking softly. Ryan had opened up a little bit about Spencer and his _feelings_. It had broken Brendon’s heart but he’d also been so happy because he wanted them to be together and happy.) and Brendon knew what was going to happen even before Ryan leaned forward and kissed Spencer on the lips.

Spencer kissed back, of course, his free hand coming up to grab at Ryan’s shirt collar tight and keep him in place. He was probably afraid that Ryan would run away again, because Spencer had told Brendon in one of their own private ‘Spencer talks about his _feelings’_ moments that the last time Ryan had gotten the courage to kiss Spencer, he’d hidden in his room for three days before Spencer had broken his bedroom door down and forced him back into society.

They’re alone in Taco Bell, even the employees are all in the back and ignoring them now, so Brendon didn’t worry too much, he just smiled a little sadly and a little happily, because he’d been waiting for this for literally months, for their glances at each other and the feelings they shared almost on a telepathic level to finally accumulate in what the kiss now was in front of him. They were two people who were so close, so essential to each other, that he couldn’t’ think about Ryan without thinking about Spencer or think about Spencer without thinking about Ryan. Like Pete and Patrick. Ryan and Spencer were what Pete and Patrick were. Brendon was so happy for them. He was sad though, too. He wanted them both so much that it hurt sometimes, just looking at them. But they had each other and what did they even need him for? He was just Brendon and they’re two of the most amazing people in the world, second only to his guys in his heart.

Ryan finally pulled away from Spencer, maybe realizing that they were making out literally in Brendon’s face, he could feel their hands twitching and spasming just slightly in his own. Spencer blinked his eyes open and Ryan did the same and they had a split second eyebrow conversation before they both turned to look at Brendon. He realized that he was still gripping their hands, so hard that his own hands have turned white. He’s wasn’t angry, not upset, but if he let go of their hands he would do something stupid with his free limbs.

Brendon moved to let go, to give them their hands back and make a stupid comment like “Geez, about time!” or “Damn, guys! At least let me leave first!” and be that teasing but pleased friend who never told them that he was fucking in love with both of them (oh fuck, he was _in love_ with Spencer _and_ Ryan, what the _fuck_ ), but he flushed and guilt flooded him because he was caught being so down about something so great.

But the grip changed. Suddenly, it was the two of them holding each of his hands instead of the other way around, gripping his fingers instead of his fingers gripping theirs. Spencer first, and then Ryan, pulled him closer until they could each loop an arm around his waist.

Ryan caught his jaw first with his free hand and then kissed him deep and hard and fierce like his lyrics and his personality, a little closed off at first, impersonal and mechanical before he exploded and took over Brendon’s mouth, bent him backwards with his force and stole his breathe. Brendon loved it, loved him so much. He didn’t really know what was happening but Spencer wasn’t punching either of them so he just closed his eyes and kissed him back with the softest, most embarrassing whimper ever. Ryan pulled away slowly, taking the last of Brendon’s lungs with him, but before he can even say ‘what’ the grip on his chin changed from hard and near painful to soft and gentle and Spencer Smith was kissing him. Where Ryan was hot, Spencer was cool and he was thorough, licking into Brendon with careful, perfect little flicks of tongue. He pulled Brendon close, Ryan’s hand moving to Brendon’s hair and holding him at the perfect angle for Spencer’s kiss, his soft pink lips hard and gentle and kind, nipping where Ryan bit, giving where Ryan took. Brendon loved him too, loved him and them both so much, so much that he just couldn’t breathe anymore. He couldn’t see anything through the blur of his mostly closed eyes other than those two boys who meant so much to him and he never wanted to again.

Somehow, they manhandled him into Spencer’s van, which he was perfectly okay with.

He ended up straddling Ryan’s lap, and Ryan took his mouth again. His tongue was hot, wet, moving and finding every spot Brendon had on his neck and in his mouth (and what the _fuck_ , since when do _gums_ have a direct link to one’s _dick_ , when did that even become a _thing_?)

Ryan’s hands slid to his hips, under his shirt, long and thin fingers resting against his burning skin

 His tongue was in Brendon’s mouth and then on his neck and behind his ear, his hands were pressed to the skin of his hips, his stomach, his neck, his hair. They were making out and Spencer was driving carefully, somewhere Brendon couldn’t think about with Ryan just all over him.

They parked in the shady parking lot of some abandoned park, it looked oddly familiar but Brendon couldn’t focus on that with what feels like a boa constrictor in Ryan’s pants grinding up into him and Ryan’s hands shoving his hips in a rolling fashion that matched his own.

“Ryan, Ryan…” He got out, voice rasping and hitching. Ryan made an answering groan but so did Spencer and that set Brendon off. He leaned over, one hand on Ryan’s shoulder so he could kiss Spencer too, lips wet with Ryan’s taste but so desperate for more. He’d never felt so hot, so much need running through him for them. Before Brendon really knew what was up, he was being carried out of the van, vision hazy. He didn’t care, because the back of the van was opening and Brendon remembered the mattress Spencer had laid out like Brendon had told them about Fall Out Boy’s van, how the last seat row had been removed and a twin had been set up with piles of blankets and pillows. Spencer had put it in the day after he’d gotten the call from Brendon saying that Pete wanted to watch them practice.  
But that was neither here nor there and all Brendon could think about was that he was being laid on that mattress right then with Spencer Smith on top of him. He was so okay with this turn of events. Ryan pulled at his shirt and Brendon didn’t do much besides let them move him. He let Ryan pull his shirt off and unbutton his pants, arching off the mattress to help him slip them and his boxers off and he didn’t mind that he was the only one naked either. He cried out when he felt two mouths on him, biting and licking, a tornado sucking him up and a tsunami drowning him in sensation on both sides of his body, Ryan taking and taking and Spencer giving and giving. It was too much, it was all so much but it was all Brendon could do to breath and cry out and let go when they told him to. He wasn’t sure how he got to the point where his fingers were clenching hard in the mattress, how he got to his legs framing a body. He knew Spencer had gotten naked at some point, because he could just barely see his pants and shirt, and he could feel soft plushy skin on his own and he knew Ryan was as good as naked because the only clothe he felt against his skin was a smooth pair of boxer shorts stretched across a taut body. Their mouths were everywhere and then someone’s mouth was _there_ , and it had to be Spencer because his hair was shorter then Ryan’s and Brendon’s hand was clutched tight in it while he licked Brendon like he was a lollipop. Ryan’s long, spidery fingers trailed up and over his trembling stomach, across his chest, tweaking his nipples hard (He nearly screamed and arched up so far that Spencer pinned his bucking hips down), up his neck, pushed at his bruised and swollen lips.

The world went white as suddenly as their kisses in Taco Bell had happened and Brendon could swear he’d screamed but everything was just white noise while his orgasm rolled through him. He tried to speak but all that came out was Spencer’s broken up name, gasped out with ragged inhales. The wet-hot-sucking didn’t leave his dick until he was shaking so hard he can just barely shove at Spencer’s head weakly, tears almost leaking from his eyes at the stimulation.

When his vision cleared, it was to Ryan and Spencer making out hot and messy over him, tongues and spit and teeth and fuck, he would come again if he could so soon. He saw the last of the white on Spencer’s lips (oh god, that was _him_ ) disappear into Ryan’s mouth when he liked Spencer’s lips and that was enough to make Brendon sit up and touch them both.

Somehow he and Spencer come to the agreement to attack Ryan at the same time. Spencer always liked to go last, liked to make sure everyone was taken care of before he indulged himself. He did it with food and time management and entertainment and he wasn’t much different in the dark of the van, with the moonlight streaming in through the back of the windows and lighting up their skin. Brendon’s tan and Ryan’s basement dwelling pale and Spencer’s milky white all somehow seemed to glow in the moonlight and Brendon loved it.

Brendon sucked Ryan off while Spencer pressed against Ryan’s side, roughly scratching over his stomach and chest. Brendon was new, didn’t really know how to use his mouth and lips (“Cocksucker lips, god damn it, Brendon, yes, yes, fuck!” Ryan nearly growled, a hand in Brendon’s hair holding him still while Ryan thrust into his mouth) but Ryan was almost calm until Spencer started talking dirty and then it was all Brendon could do to hold on for the face fucking of his life.

Ryan moaned brokenly and spent across Brendon’s tongue and lips, a little making it to his cheek and then Ryan was going limp. Spencer leaned over him and licked Brendon’s face clean and that seemed to get Ryan up enough to roll on top of Spencer and kiss him hard and fast. Brendon just watched them and let the warm feeling in his heart (different, so very different from the warmth his guys inspire in him, but still so strong that it took his breathe away, like their kisses did). Ryan and Brendon worked together to bring Spencer over the edge. Brendon figured that Spencer would like it gentle and soft so he fluttered kisses across his stomach (and fuck, Ryan and Spencer were so different but both were so fucking beautiful) and neck, fingers rolling over his nipples and wrapping around the base of his dick while Ryan spread his legs and did something with his tongue that made Spencer’s eyes snap open wide and made him open his mouth and gasp out silently except to take in deep, broken breathes. Brendon jacked him off slow and tight and Spencer clawed deep into the mattress when he came, shooting jizz all the way up his body, on his chest and even making it to under his chin. Brendon licked it off of him and found he liked the taste of both of them.

They were all exhausted by the time they were done, Spencer was still shaking hard from his orgasm and Ryan and Brendon were both boneless so they all curled up together for warmth. Spencer somehow made it to the top of them and laid across them, head tucked under Brendon’s chin and arm tucked under Brendon’s side while his legs and lower body pressed against Ryan’s and his other hand tangled with Ryan’s over his chest. They were all smiling and it was just. It was crazy.  
Brendon was tired and pleased and he wasn’t confused because he felt like Ryan and Spencer had just fucked their feelings into him. He knew they loved him too, even though they hadn’t said it yet.

He wasn’t scared anymore, of growing up or of his feelings for them.

He wasn’t scared, he was just happy. Happy and safe and warm, surrounded by these two dorks and his guys waiting for him to get home back at the apartments.

“Sing until your lungs give out.” He said to himself, just barely mouthing the words. He still thought of that pen, the same pen he’d signed his name on the contract with, scrawling those words onto Patrick’s skin for the first time. Pete reapplied it with a black marker, a kiss to Patrick’s green cheek and a wink at Brendon after that. He looked down, saw those words in the familiar scrawl (the hidden smiley face in the last ‘o’ of the phrase that Patrick had added in just before Andy had taken him to get it down last Christmas.)

He leaned up to kiss Spencer then kissed Ryan and even though the kisses were chaste, he still lost all the air in his body and he felt like his lungs gave out. It was the best feeling in the world.

He’d made his family proud, his real family, who loved him unconditionally no matter his faith or orientation, and he’d met the perfect people in the world and he’d somehow landed them both just by being himself, being Brendon. He’d sung and he’d done it, he’d made it.

Yeah, it was the best feeling in the world.

And they lived happily ever after.

-

Well, until they met Jon Walker.

But Jon Walker was not at the beginning of his own happily ever after, which actually started because;

Brent made Ryan cry one night.

Nearly a year after getting signed, they finally went on tour with Fall Out Boy and the newly named The Academy Is…. Though they’d still had over a month and a half of school left  when the tour had started, they’d just…left. Spencer and Brent had managed to talk their parents into signing the permission slip that had allowed them to finish their schooling over correspondence but Brendon hadn’t been able to contact his parents so he’d just dropped out. He was eighteen, he was in a successful band with a newly minted album under his belt (already tearing shit up, it was a hit and Brendon’s head had spun the first time Pete had told them that) and he hadn’t needed that diploma.

The thing about _Fever_ though, was that Brent had somehow gotten out of every recording session somehow or another and Brendon had recorded the parts instead, and that had pretty much pissed Spencer off enough but Brendon had talked him out of the confrontation since the tour was so close and no way would they be able to find a bassist so close to a tour like that.

Brendon hadn’t counted on all the missed practices and rehearsals, the late van calls and the near cancellations of their openings because their bassist was late. It came to a head one night, only two weeks into the tour.

Brent made Ryan cry. He wasn’t hurt or anything, but one too many missed practices, one to many shows almost not played because Brent had been late and the tears that appeared on Ryan’s flushed-with-frustrated cheeks had made Spencer reach his boiling point.

The tears hadn’t even reached to the bottom of Ryan’s face before Spencer was blowing up Brent’s phone with a single minded enthusiasm.

The blow out was the next morning (and Brendon thanked every deity that it was an off week, a few days break to help the new touring bands get used to the life without overwhelming them) when Brent finally picked up after missing another rehearsal.

Words were exchanged, Brendon had to go hide and cry in Fall Out Boy’s bus because even when he was a dick, Brent had still been his friend and the betrayal he felt hurt so much and he just needed Patrick and Joe to hug him and Andy to pet his hair and Pete to read him funny livejournal posts.

Spencer fired Brent over the phone.

Pete was a little pissed because they probably could have waited until after the tour but Brendon knew that Pete thought of it as Brendon’s band and their responsibility to make their own mistakes.

Brendon had left a little later, feeling better about Brent but upset at upsetting Pete when he’d run into Jon Walker. Jon Walker who was made of awesome and beauty and whatever peanut butter cups were made out of except rainbows. He was a present from Bill from The Academy Is.., a welcome-to-band-life present to help them out with their bassist problem, which had somehow already circulated around the circus that was the tour employees.

Jon filled in on bass for them and he was amazing. He was magical and to show just how magical, he made one frosty Spencer Smith fall in love with him.

Ryan followed Spencer everywhere and Brendon went with him so soon enough, the flip-flop wearing Chicagoan had his three new band mates mooning after him.

Jon didn’t take long to get with the program, because who could turn down Brendon Urie kissing Spencer Smith with Ryan Ross between them.

It didn’t take long for Brendon to quietly tell Pete that Jon was in the band for permanent (and in their bed if Pete got what Brendon was awkwardly implying. Luckily, Pete and Patrick both go it and then dragged each other away to get a little of their own awkward implications on. Brendon refused to think about it because, “Gross, it’s like a weird mix of my dad and my brother getting it on, dude. No thanks.”)

Once Jon had accepted the quite obvious invitation to join his attractive bandmates in a weird, kinky, weirdly codependent poly relationship, _then_ they lived happily ever after.

Because Jon Walker was magic.

-

The last night of tour, Brendon was shoved to the front of stage left, his band and their friends behind him to keep him there while Pete closed down their set.

Brendon didn’t know what was going on, but he really didn’t want to question it with Ryan’s smirk and Jon’s sweet, scruffy smile and Spencer’s ‘don’t fuck with me’ stare, so he just watched.

They played their last song, but then Patrick was stepping up to the mic. Brendon thought that was strange. Despite their success and their high level of stardom for a pop punk rock band, Patrick still wasn’t all that confident by himself on stage but everything cleared up when a big, proud smile (that made both the girls _and_ the boys in the audience swoon just a little) that Brendon knew was _his_ smile covered Patrick’s face.

“So, you probably don’t know this, but a few years ago my band and I sort of adopted this kid.” He looked over at Brendon and smiled and Brendon just _knew_ he was going to cry before the end of the set.

“See, this kid is probably the most important thing in the world to all of us. We love him like a brother and probably a little like a kid of our own, which is weird since if two dudes can’t get a baby I dunno how four managed it, but anyway.” He cleared his throat, glanced at Pete for the comfort Brendon knew he needed to keep so much attention on him for so long (Brendon caught the ‘ut’ of ‘out’ from under his jacket sleeve and felt his heart flutter).

“So, anyway. This kid just turned eighteen a few months ago. We wanted to give him something special, something really important.”  
And they had. They’d given him a new guitar, shiny and beautiful and red with a Bartskull in the corner, like Pete’s tattoo.

Brendon wanted to protest, but he was in the audience for this one so he just settled for pouting hard on Patrick.

“Anyway! As most of you know, probably, we’re releasing our new album in a couple days. Infinity On High. Actually, this album was the reason we met this kid so, it’s just really important.” Patrick cleared his throat, “So uh, here’s a song from Infinity On High. Dedicated to Brendon. We love you dude.”

Brendon loved the song. From the weird opening to the sarcastic wit and the fast beat, he loved it. He didn’t really understand why they’d dedicate it to him but he remembered the lyrics they’d picked out for it, a few lines written in the notebooks Pete carried everywhere with him, a few lines from the notepads around the apartment and even two or three lines written on people (Patrick, Joe, Andy and even Brendon, to be exact).

Brendon just smiled though and listened, eyes closing to enjoy the way Patrick’s voice weaved around him like it always did from the moment he heard it all those months ago as a starved kid on the street.

And then the part came up and Brendon grinned wide.

“ _All the boys on the dance floor who didn’t love_

_And all the girls whose lips didn’t move fast enough_

_Sing, until your lungs give out_ ”

The rest of the song was great, of course it was, filled with Pete’s usual biting commentary and sarcasm but is just glossed right over him.  
He hugged Andy first because he was the only one able to just leave his instrument on the stage. The hug was tight and sweaty and totally worth the gross factor because Andy’s hugs were awesome.

Joe was next because he got to Brendon first-shooting a smug grin at Pete. Brendon just laughed and squeezed him as tight as he could. Pete and Patrick dove in together and the three of them ended up on the ground in an awkwardly handled group hug, clinging until Joe laughed and flopped his fat ass onto them. Andy joins the pile soon after and the five of them just cling together.

All Brendon could do was whisper ‘thank you’ over and over against Patrick’s sweaty red hair and grip Pete’s hand tightly. Joe and Andy were lying on top of him, knocking the breathe from his lungs.

All he can think of was that shady as fuck guy at the park on that cold April night, the guy with understanding eyes and a wicked sharp grin, blood dripping from his nose and bruises already forming around his nose as he looked up at Brendon from the ground and said “We’ve got a free bed, if you’re interested?” and just how lucky Brendon really was-as he looked up from his pile of sweaty punk rockers to see Ryan and Spencer and Jon looking at him with shiny, happy eyes-that he said “Yeah, okay.”

 

-End-

**Author's Note:**

> oh dear oh dear, okay. I started this fic as a not!fic in...December of 2013 and finished it around three days later. I decided that I wanted to enter into the Bandom Big Bang but I didn't think I'd be able to write 20,000 words so I just figured I'd enter in wave three and fix up my not!fic, here. Only, it turned out that not!fic wasn't accepted (which I'm not mad about! Those guys working on the BBB are amazing!) so I figured I'd just go back and like...write the fic! So I wrote and wrote following my not!fic, only by the time I'd hit 20,000 words I was like "Oh shit! This is a lot longer then I figured it'd be!" but decided to submit it anyway. Only, I had missed the sign up deadline because I read the rules wrong like a dummy ;-;  
> And now, here is the finished work. It's probably terrible and cliche but I wanted to post it just to challenge myself.  
> I made it a gift to Maggie because she told me she loved it and I wanted her to be one of the first to see my finished product. I hope you liked it Maggie! I love you!


End file.
